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The two-gun man. 


% 





The Two-Gun Man 

Tells how a man is judged by his clothes and weapons , in¬ 
cidentally proving that two guns in the hands 
of an expert are better than one 


1 

By 

ROBERT AMES RENNET 

Author of Tyrrel of the Cow Country 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1924. 






Copyright 

A. C. McClurg & Co. 
1924 


Published March, 1924 
Copyrighted in Great Britain 


Printed in the United States of America 


M. A. DONOHUE ft CO., POINTERS AND EIMDERS, CHICAGO 


APR 24 '24 \ 

r —' 

©ClA79200a ;v 








CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I “A Jug and Thou ”. i 

II The Moonpath.io 

III Shirtsleeve Justice.20 

IV Her Hostelry.29 

V The Puncher.39 

VI Hate and Kate.49 

VII Set on a Hair.61 

VIII Calves and Coyotes.74 

IX The Double-Cross.86 

X High Jack. 96 

XI A Draw.109 

XII “Best Laid Schemes-”.123 

XIII Tongue and Trigger.135 

XIV The China Shop.149 

XV Stacked Cards.163 

XVI Cooked Up and Doctored.178 

XVII The Jesse James Act.190 

XVIII Judge Lynch’s Court. 200 

XIX Caught with the Goods.213 

XX Safety First.227 

XXI “ Nor Iron Bars a Cage ”.237 

XXII Taken In or Taken On?.253 

XXIII Playing ’Possum.265 

XXIV Out of the Trap.277 

XXV The Bluffer.285 

XXVI On the Inside.299 

XXVII Cheating the Devil.315 

XXVIII The Show-Down.329 

XXIX Top Riders.344 
































THE TWO-GUN MAN 


CHAPTER I 


“a jug and thou” 


A distance the rider seemed even less in- 



teresting than his ewe-necked travel-worn 
broncho. The scant bed roll wrapped in his slicker 
and the leanness of his horse told that he was not 
a local ranch hand. He slouched loosely in his 
saddle, a rather slightly built cowboy. 

The first distinctive note to catch the eye was the 
scarlet band about his waist—a fancy Mexican sash- 
girdle of silk. It went oddly with his dusty over¬ 
alls and khaki shirt. So did the ornate silver- 
filigree band of his old sombrero. The hat was 
unusually large for this farm-converted Colorado 
mountain cattle country. 

A still closer view brought the glint and jingle 
of the rider’s big-roweled silver-mounted Spanish 
spurs. Most distinctive of all — at the front of his 
sagging cartridge belt hung a pair of open-holstered 
Colts. 

Yet aside from his weapons, nothing about this 
two-gun man suggested the desperado. His boyish 
face had a happy-go-lucky look. His dark eyes were 


2 


The Two-Gun Man 


as mild as a girl’s. His lips, though rather thin, 
quirked up at the corners. 

The road rounded over the corner of a hill. The 
rider looked down the bright green valley of a small 
creek. Half a mile away he saw a roadside cluster 
of buildings — farmhouse, barn and sheds — that 
gave promise of refreshment to man and beast. A 
slight shift in his seat put the broncho into a jog. 

On the front of the old log house had been built 
an ugly shack, divided into a rough garage, or oil 
station, and a country store. As the rider drew near 
he glimpsed a furtive face peering at him through 
one of the dirty windows of the store. But he turned 
to the old stone-curbed well that divided the road 
in front of the garage. 

His horse’s dusty muzzle plunged into the trough 
beside the curb. He swung off to lower the bat¬ 
tered galvanized bucket. The well was not deep. 
The bucket came up brimming with cool pure water. 
He drank deeply. 

Out of the store slouched a long, bony, loose- 
jointed man. He leaned against one of the un¬ 
barked spruce posts of the store porch and spat 
a streak of tobacco juice into the dust. 

“Howdy, feller,” he greeted. “You one them 
movie cowboys ? ” 

The horseman dumped the bucketful of water into 
the trough and quietly faced his questioner. 



“A Jug and Thou ”3 

“’Lo, Dorcy, you old hossthief. Thought they 
strung you up long ago.” 

The gaunt man’s bleary eyes fixed upon the brace 
of revolvers on the front of the other’s belt. He 
stiffened as if he had touched a live wire. 

“Sid — Sid Corveau! Good Lord, kid, you ain’t 
trailing me! I — I wasn’t in with O’Keefe, there at 
Tombstone, when the bunch stacked the cards on 
you. It was on’y A1 and Lefty. I didn’t get a cent 
of your roll. I-” 

“ Choke your blatt, Gig. That’s all dead and 
buried — ’specially Pat O’Keefe. I’m just taking 
a pasear up this way. How about eats?” 

“Sure — sure, kid. I ought to knowed ’tain’t 
like you to hold a grudge. Step right in. What’ll 
you have — ham, bacon-” 

“Give the bronc a good feed of oats. I’ll bust 
myself a can or two.” 

With ingratiating eagerness, Dorcy hastened to 
lead the horse to the barn. Corveau sauntered into 
the store, jingling his silver spurs. He was seated 
on the cluttered counter, feasting on sardines, 
crackers and cheese, when his host slid in at the 
door, more than ever anxious to please. 

“Lord, Sid—a lot of dry chuck like that. Lem- 
me-” 

“You might open up your pickle kegs and bust 
me a can of tomatoes and peaches, if you like.” 






4 


The Two-Gun Man 


The storekeeper narrowed one of his bleary eyes. 

“How ’bout a slug of — uh — something with a 
kick in it, Sid?” 

“Nothing doing, old hoss. I voted dry last 
year.” 

Gig Dorcy rolled his quid in his cheek and winked 
knowingly. 

“ Coldwell ain’t dry, though. Real stuff. None 
that wood alcohol or sympathetic gin you get in 
town. Might be a jug around that’s had time to 
age a bit — seeing as how you’re my old side-kick.” 

“Told you I voted dry.” 

Quietly as Corveau spoke, Dorcy w r as quick to 
note the white rims that appeared under the brown- 
black irises of his guest’s eyes. He almost Hurriedly 
hastened to open the cans of tomatoes and peaches. 

“That’s more like,” said Corveau. “I was be¬ 
ginning to think your hearing had gone bad. Bad 
hearing is apt to get a man into trouble.” 

He swallowed a vinegar pickle and took a drink 
of tomato juice out of the can. 

“Um-m— Beats moonshine, Gig. Carries you 
back to the tail end of a blistering day’s round-up 
on the desert, when Cookie opens up his heart and 
the chuck box. Only I don’t see any alkali in this 
country —nor much stock.” 

“ Thay’s a lot of Herefords in the hills,” replied 
Dorcy. “More’n you’d think. But the latest is 



“A Jug and Thou” 


5 


Shorthorn dairying and head lettuce.” 

“I see. Nesters have crowded out the brand 
owners.” ' 

“Not crowded. Owners cut up their holdings 
and took to farming. Sight of money in head let¬ 
tuce and milk.” 

“To say nothing of bootleg,” put in Corveau. 
“ Beats rustling steers and horse stealing and tin¬ 
horn gambling all hollow, eh — you knock-kneed 
old brand-blotter.” 

Dorcy grinned uneasily. 

“You ain’t got no call to ride me, Sid, just ’cause 
I happened to have a drop of juice on hand for 
medic’nal use. How’d I know you’d swore off? 
Last time I seen you you’d ’a’ grabbed for a swig.” 

Corveau’s eyes clouded. 

“ Maybe you haven’t heard I gave O’Keefe what 
was coming to him.” 

“Why, I — I did sort of hear something. So now 
you’ve come .... trailing A1 and Lefty.” 

The surprise of the two-gun man was unmistak¬ 
able. 

“That pair of black jacks! Up here, are they?” 

“ We-ell — they was — a while back. Just going 
through, I guess, to-” 

“ Cut out the lying, Gig. I’m not trailing them 
or anybody. Round here is a pleasurable change 
from Arizona sand and cactus. But since it’s no 




6 


The Two-Gun Man 


longer a real cow country, I’ve a mind to jog over 
West.” 

The storekeeper could not hide his relief. 

“Uh— The boys’ll be right glad to hear you 
ain’t after ’em. It’s just dairy and farm round these 
parts, though.” 

“Except our bootleg joint.” 

“You got me wrong, Sid. This here’s a reg’lar 
business — Coldwell Empor’um and Garridge, 
George Dorcy, manager. You seen the sign — 
There’s a toot for gas now.” 

The auto horn squawked again. Dorcy shuffled 
out at a side door into the garage. By leaning to 
one side Corveau could see through the doorway to 
the gasoline pump at the open front corner of the 
station. 

Beside the pump a ruddy, thickset, youngish man 
sat at the wheel of a battered flivver. He crooked 
his finger to Dorcy with the gesture of a master to 
an inferior. 

A slight sound from the front of the store brought 
Corveau’s glance flashing around with the alertness 
of a hunted gray wolf’s. In the doorway stood a 
girl nearly as tall as himself. Her soft dark hair 
lay massed under her neat hat in thick unbobbed 
tresses. Her rich color had too much the freshness 
of dawn red to have come out of a rouge pot. 

Corveau jumped down from his seat on the coun- 



“A Jug and Thou ” 


7 


ter and swept the sombrero from his sandy head. 

“ Buenos dias, sehorita. Gig just shied out. Any¬ 
thing I can get you?” 

The girl gravely looked him up and down. Her 
gaze fixed upon the two guns slung at the front of 
his belt. Into her clear flax-blue eyes came a look 
of disapproval. 

“ No, thank you,” she replied. “All I want is a 
jug of vinegar. I’ll help myself.” 

She reached in behind the counter and drew out 
a gallon stoneware jug. Still calm and deliberate, 
she stepped over the threshold into the slab porch 
and disappeared. Corveau shook his head. Too 
bad! She did not look that sort. 

After a few moments he heard the blare and 
racket of a rebellious engine. The uproar ended in 
the swoosh of the departing flivver. Dorcy insinu¬ 
ated himself through the garage doorway. His 
glance shifted uneasily around the store. His shot 
of tobacco juice at the sawdust cuspidor-box missed 
by more than a foot. Plainly something had dis¬ 
tressed him. 

“ Let’s hear it,” invited Corveau. “ Did she high¬ 
jack the white mule?” 

“What, that? Lord, no. She ain’t so all-fired 
smart as she figgered. It’s just what it’s labeled, 
cider vin’gar.” 

“ Took her for one your moonshine customers.” 



8 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Her? Ain’t you got no sense? She’s Jordan’s 
girl” 

“Well?” 

“Well nothing! Jordan’s the stiff we — the 
county—’Jected sheriff. He’s easy as a old boot. 
But Miss Kate, she’s one them goody-goody Sun- 
day-go-to-meeting skirts thay’s no getting round.” 

Corveau thoughtfully fished his last half peach 
from the “busted” can. 

“ Must make you feel good and safe, Gig, hav¬ 
ing the sheriff close by to protect you. He looked 
young to be her dad.” 

“Who? No, that was Bull —Bull Lort. He’s 
going to marry her. Jordan don’t live near here. 
What’s left of his old ranch is right next Elk. 
Mighty handy for him and Miss Kate. Both can 
stay home when thay’s nobody in jail.” 

“You don’t say he acts as jailer, too?” 

“No. Miss Kate got ’pointed. Said the dirty 
hole needed a good scrubbing.” 

A silver dollar suddenly appeared in Corveau’s 
small hand. 

“Guess I’d best trot along. Road map gives it 
fifteen miles on to Elk. What’s the damage for the 
chuck?” 

“ Nary a red cent, kid. It’s on me. Mighty gladj 
to grub a old side-kick. Say, though, long as you’re! 
going to town— Can you drive a truck?” 






“A Jug and Thou” 


9 


“So-so.” 

“Well, a man I know hauls milk and lettuce to 
the railroad. He was took sick. I promised to run 
his truck in to Elk for him. I’ll lose trade, though, 
if I close up the garridge.” 

“All right. Where’s your go-cart?” 



CHAPTER II 


THE MOONPATH 


D ORCY hurried ahead to the barn and backed 
out a medium-sized truck. From the stable 
end of the big building he brought the broncho. As 
he hitched the animal to the tailboard of the truck 
he lifted a corner of the heavy canvas tarpaulin that 
covered the load. Under it appeared a crate of crisp I 
head lettuces, each as big as a fair-sized cabbage. 

“ From Lort’s ranch, over at Stack Falls,” he 
said. “The milk cans are in the middle. You’ll find 
the Elk Cream’ry down near the river, next the 
railroad. Just leave the truck there.” 

As Corveau took the driver’s seat, Dorcy handed 
up a flask labeled “Ginger Ale.” 

“ Case you feel dry between here and Elk, Sid, 
or get stummick ache from that cold truck.” 

Corveau read the printed label, shoved the flask 
into his hip pocket, and gave the starter of the truck 
engine a shove. 

“ S’long. Give my fond, fond love to A1 and 
Lefty. Tell ’em I saw your state pen when I came 
up through Canon City. Next year, if I go back 
that way, I’ll pay you all a visit.” 

The truck rumbled out into the road, leaving 
10 








The Moonpath 


11 


Dorcy with a wooden grin on his flat bony face. 
Corveau looked back only to make sure his horse 
had not broken loose. The snorts and plunges and 
side-jumps of the broncho were already moderating. 
As the speed of the truck increased he followed sub¬ 
missively at trot and lope. 

The road twisted along the left side of the valley, 
sweeping around spurs of the brown-green flower- 
dotted hills. Three miles below Coldwell, Corveau 
slowed to take the old log bridge at the crossing of 
the creek. 

Sight of the water reminded him of his ginger 
ale. He had a feeling that the three kinds of pickles 
he had sampled between the tomatoes and peaches 
were not associating altogether amicably with the 
rest of his cold lunch. 

Beyond the bridge the road rose in a stiff climb. 
Not wishing to lose headway by stopping the truck 
at the foot of the steep grade, he hurriedly opened 
the flask between his knees with one hand and up- 
tilted it to his lips. A full third of the fiery con¬ 
tents had gulped down his throat before he tasted 
anything else than the ginger. 

Even then his mind remained fixed upon the need 
to shove on more power. The flask was recorked 
and back in his pocket before he thought to fling it 
away. A dangerous little wash gulley that cut half . 
across the road forced him to center all his attention 




12 


The Two-Gun Man 


$ 


upon swerving the truck around it. 

By the time he was past the gulley and had the 
truck pulling steadily up the stiff grade the “ ginger 
ale ” had begun to make itself felt. His anger over 
Dorcy’s trick mellowed to tolerance in the glow of 
good feeling that flowed up with his heated blood to 
his brain. 

“Ginger” was all right — only it was more like 
ninety-five per cent Jamaica ginger or rather, half 
that and half double-proof raw white mule. But 
old Gig had looked friendly. No doubt the ignorant 
cuss had meant well. 

After all, what mattered one little slug of hooch 
when a fellow had been on the water wagon for over 
a year? One little slug, or maybe two or thr&e, to 
cheer up a lone, jobless, wandering cowboy, far, far 
from home and friends. 

It was not his fault. He had not broken his 
promise. He had not intentionally taken the drink. 
Gig had tricked him — the slick old coyote! But on 
a thundering up-grade like this you couldn’t turn 
back to shoot his ears off. Besides, that would be 
returning to temptation. Besides, again, why shoot 
up an old side-kick when a fellow felt like busting 
into song? 

He opened his ginger-and-alcohol-scorched mouth 
and struck into a favorite version of The Cowboy’s 
Lament: 






The Moonpath 


13 


“Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie 
Where the coyotes howl and - ” 

The truck swung sharp around a dense clump of 
blue spruce. Close ahead, in the middle of the road, 
stood a battered old flivver. Corveau let out a 
blood-curdling yell, blared the truck horn, and burst 
again into song: 

“ Clear the track for 
I am coming!- - ” 

A girl straightened up beside the front of the car. 
She lifted her hand. It was the blue-eyed girl who 
had grabbed the vinegar jug. The truck creaked, 
shuddered, groaned, and stopped a short ten feet 
behind the flivver, with brakes screeching. 

Corveau waved his sombrero to the girl with 
genial friendliness. She bent low again over the 
engine of the car. Far from rebuffed, Corveau 
jumped down to offer his sympathy and unskilled 
services. 

A lady alone with a balky flivver— No, two big 
boots were sticking out from under the running 
board. That fellow—what was his name — Bull 
Lort—the man who was going to marry her, he was 
under the car. From where his top end must be, 
came noises that sounded like cussing, only there 
were no words you could make out. 

The boots began to move. They shoved out- 





14 


The Two-Gun Man 


wards, followed by thick legs, then a thick body, 
and, lastly, a thick head with a crimson, grease- 
spotted face. Corveau did not see the metal badge 
on the inarticulate curser’s broad chest where the 
unbuttoned vest had pulled apart. He had stepped 
over the legs to address the girl. 

“’Scuse me, ma’am. Your Rolls-Royce is hog¬ 
ging the highway.” 

Kate Jordan looked up at him, soberly apologetic. 

“I am sorry. The engine has gone dead, and 
_>» 

“Ought to’ve been buried long ago,” said Lort. 
“What the matter is this time beats me. If it was 
mine, I’d run the old junk heap over a cliff. Have 
you found what’s off?” 

“Not a thing, Bullen.” 

“Just plumb locoed, uh?” put in Corveau. 
“What d’you say we shunt it clear, so I can get past 
and-” 

“Don’t be in such a — dickens — of a hurry,” 
growled Lort. 

His greenish gray eyes shot a glance at the truck, 
widened, narrowed, and turned back to stare at Cor- 
veau’s brace of revolvers and boyish liquor-flushed 
face. 

“Who are you? What are you doing with that 
truck?” 

Corveau was too fully aglow with alcoholic 






The Moonpath 


15 


geniality to take offense at the other’s rough tone. 
He waved his hand airily. 

“Me? I’m just a passing shadow adrift ’cross 
your happy vale of sunshine.” 

“That truck, I say! ” 

“ Oh, that. Old buddy of mine asked would I 
roll it to town. The cream’ll clabber if we stand 
here chinning all day. S’pose we hitch your flivver 
on behind? ” 

“A very sensible suggestion, Bullen,” approved 
the girl. “ Better be towed in than spend hours 
looking for whatever is the matter.” 

As she took the driver’s seat, Corveau kicked 
loose the stone that blocked one of the rear wheels. 
The car had no more than backed aslant to the side 
of the road before he was starting the truck. Barely 
past the car he jammed on the brakes. He came 
around to where Lort was hooking fast a woven wire 
towline. 

Miss Jordan had led the broncho to the rear of 
the car. 

“ I’ll sit in the back seat and hold him,” she said. 

This struck Corveau as very kind. The warmth 
of his feeling extended to her future husband. He 
held out the pint flask. 

“Try a shot of ginger ale, buddy. Finest kind 
of tonic for that sour feeling.” 

Lort stared suspiciously from flask to offerer, then 



16 


The Two-Gun Man 


took a stiff drink. His eyes narrowed. 

“ You’re right. That’s some tonic. If you don’t 
mind, I’ll keep what’s left.” 

“ I do mind,” said Corveau. He plucked the flask 
out of Lort’s hand before the bigger man could 
tighten his grip on it. 

“Hold on,” Lort protested. “If you drink all 
that you’ll ditch the whole outfit of us.” 

Corveau took a nip and carefully pocketed what 
was left. 

“ Buddy, even when I’m walking figure-eights, I 
can sit a saddle and hit a tack at twenty paces. It 
would pleasure me a whole lot to give you a spill. 
But we have a lady in the outfit. Watch me gentle 
this truck. Le’s go.” 

“Hitch the bronc on behind, Kate, and take the 
wheel,” directed Lort. “ I’ll run the truck.” 

“Not so fast, Mister Man,” said Corveau. “I 
promised to drive this truck. I don’t guess you’re 
going to ride it or me.” 

Both his look and tone were softly ironical. Lort 
eyed the pair of front-holstered Colts and turned 
back to take the steering-wheel of the flivver. This 
was no time to force a quarrel with a stranger who 
packed two guns. 

Miss Kate Jordan had not moved from the rear 
seat or let go her hold of the broncho’s reins. Cor¬ 
veau flourished his hat to her and jauntily mounted 



The Moonpath 


17 


the truck. He sent it chugging on up the steep 
grade. 

The road had not yet been made a state highway. 
It was crooked and narrow and rutty. But the truck 
proved -to be in good trim. It climbed steadily 
among the jack pines up the humping mountainside. 
The first long heavy grade eased off on an almost 
level stretch, only to be followed by a still longer and 
steeper climb. 

But at last the twisting road crawled over a rocky 
ridge crest and, like a frightened snake, darted away, 
in and out among the pines and spruce and aspens, 
down the long descent of a mountain valley. 

From the driver’s seat of the truck came an ear- 
splitting yell. 

Kate Jordan tightened her grip on the broncho’s 
reins. Lort grasped the steering-wheel of the car 
with both hands and set his foot for the brake. But 
the truck did not lurch into high speed. 

Corveau had yelled merely to tell the world his 
pleasure at having reached the top. Instead of a 
burst into racing speed, he “bust” again into song. 
An occasional nip of the “ginger ale” had added to 
his inward and outward glow. Neither his broncho 
nor the lady would enjoy a rattle-te-bang hair-raising 
swoop downhill. That was barred. But he could at 
least entertain them vocally. 

He wailed into a doleful ballad of lovelorn 



18 


The Two-Gun Man 


tragedy that Kate had not heard since her father 
had afflicted her with it as a cradle lullaby. How¬ 
ever, the truck headed down the long miles to Elk 
at only a slight increase of speed. It kept the same 
steady gait even when the singer shifted his vocal 
gears into a yell-punctured jazz song. 

After that came a truly melodious lover’s serenade 
in Arizona Spanish. Through it all the truck 
rumbled on down-grade over ruts and bumps, with 
only one pause at a turnout to let pass a heavily 
loaded up-bound flivver. 

Far down the valley, within a mile of Elk, the 
road angled into one of the broad smooth state high¬ 
ways. By this time the pint flask was almost empty. 
The raw liquor had hoarsened the singer’s throat. 
He closed the concert and proceeded to entertain his 
passengers by covering the rest of the distance to 
town with beautiful grapevine curves from ditch 
to ditch. 

Beyond the far fence of the big old log-and-frame 
Jordan ranch house came scattered rows of houses; 
then a garage. An angry shout from Lort brought 
the truck to a halt. As Corveau, with deliberate, 
almost solemn dignity, descended from his high seat, 
Lort came striding from the flivver. Kate followed 
him closely, her eyes dark with mingled indignation 
and concern. 

Corveau was in no condition to heed the fact that 



The Moonpath 


19 


the smile on the lower part of Lort’s powerful face 
did not extend up to his eyes. The thickset man 
held out a hearty hand. 

“You’re sure some driver, cowboy. Let’s have 
another drop of that ginger.” 

Though somewhat past the mellow stage, Corveau 
steadied himself with a hand on the side of the truck 
and offered the flask. Lort raised it to his lips and 
paused to frown at the scant thimbleful of liquor in 
the bottom. Corveau’s bloodshot eyes fixed upon 
it in an apologetic look. Something small and hard 
and round thrust against his stomach. 

“Stick ’em up!” ordered Lort. 

Up went Corveau’s small wiry hands. With the 
hand that held the flask Lort drew aside his vest 
to show his deputy sheriff’s badge. Corveau smiled 
good-naturedly. 

“ Y’ poor fizsh! ’M not wanned f’r anyshing.” 

“You’re under arrest for having liquor in your 
possession— No, keep those hands up, or I’ll blow 
a hole through you. I’m taking no chances with a 
two-gun man.” 



CHAPTER III 


SHIRTSLEEVE JUSTICE 


K ATE JORDAN stepped around beside Lort 
and his prisoner. She spoke with grave re¬ 
proach : 

“ Why, Bullen, what do you mean?” 

He showed her the flask before thrusting it into 
his pocket. 

“Here’s the evidence. Ginger ale on the label 
and double-proof moonshine inside. The case is a 
dead cinch. Fool didn’t savvy enough to toss the 
flask out on the rocks, up-valley. Steady now, you 
bold, bad, two-gun kid. Try to be funny, and you’ll 
get leaded.” 

White rims showed under the dark irises of Cor- 
veau’s eyes. But he stood very still. The muzzle 
of the deputy’s big automatic pistol pressed harder 
into his slim mid-body. Still staring him in the eye, 
Lort felt for the twin Colts and shifted them to his 
own belt. He changed the pistol to his left hand and 
drew a pair of handcuffs from his right hip pocket. 

The alcoholic flush ebbed from Corveau’s face, 
leaving it white under the bronze of sun and wind. 
“ ’M willin’ t’ go quiet,” he said. 

“Sure you will. Lower one hand — no, the 
right.” 


20 


Shirtsleeve Justice 


21 


Corveau’s face took on a hopeless, frightened, 
hangdog look. His lowering hand quivered as if 
afflicted with the shaking palsy. 

“Oh, Bullen!” murmured Kate. “Don’t, please 
don’t! He said he’d give up. And to arrest him 
at all, after he towed us in! ” 

“A sworn officer, Kate, must do his-” 

Lort had permitted his glance to flick aside to the 
girl. In that split fraction of a second Corveau’s 
lowered hand clutched with the quickness of a cat’s 
spatting paw. An instant later Lort found the 
muzzle of his pistol at his nose. His hands went up. 

“Tha’s it—upsy-daishy! ” mocked Corveau. 

He took back his own weapons and turned his 
shoulder to the prisoner. The contemptuous care¬ 
lessness of this deepened Lort’s florid color to crim¬ 
son. Once in the bear grip of his thick arms, Cor- 
\ veau would have been as helpless as a child. He 
was little more than a step away, and he had stag¬ 
gered as he turned. But Lort did not jump him. 
He stood rigid, with hands high. 

Kate Jordan’s grave gaze changed from pity to 
stern reproof. 

“Young man, she admonished Corveau, “two 
wrongs do not make a right. You are resisting an 
officer.” 

“Yesh — no’um. Teash’im p’lite. Ladish firsht.” 

Off went the silver-banded sombrero in a gallant 





22 


The Two-Gun Man 


flourish, accompanied by a bow that almost upset 
the unsteady saluter. He recovered his balance and 
drew himself up with great dignity to offer her not 
only Lort’s pistol but his two revolvers. 

“Take ’em — ’m me, too. I’m y’r prishner.” 

Without so much as blinking an eyelash, Kate 
took one deadly weapon after the other. But Cor- 
veau saw that they made an awkward armful for 
her. He took back his revolvers, put them into 
their holsters, unbuckled the cartridge belt, and 
handed all over with a flourish. 

Down jerked Lort’s arms. He bent to jump at 
the self-disarmed prisoner. The girl stepped be¬ 
tween. 

“No, Bullen. He has surrendered to me.” 

“A two-gun man! You saw how he tricked me. 
The dirty-” 

Something in Kate’s look checked the rage of the 
humiliated deputy. He curbed himself down to 
surliness. 

“At least give me my gun, Kate. You’re not safe 
with a drunken-” 

“ Hush! That is what made him resist. He will 
come along all right with me. If you’ll please ask 
Jake to repair the car— Go on, do! I’m as much 
responsible as an officer as you are. He’s my 
prisoner, Bullen.” 

Lort frowned but started for the garage, from 





Shirtsleeve Justice 


23 


which came the ring of a hammer on steel. 

The prisoner’s horse had sidled forward, with his 
neck curved to trail the reitis clear of his hoofs. He 
nuzzled his master’s shoulder with a dusty lip. 

Kate reached for the reins, but Corveau flipped 
them over the horse’s head, back upon the ewe- 
neck. He started off along the grass-grown edge of 
the street. The broncho followed him like a dog. 
Kate smiled as she swung forward alongside her 
prisoner. No man whose horse liked him could be 
altogether bad. 

Before many steps Corveau began to gain control 
of his wobbly feet. On beyond, where the little 
garden-patch homes crowded nearer together, Kate 
led him over to the weed-bordered sidewalk. 

About two-thirds of the way down to the railroad 
that ran along the bank of the rumbling mountain 
river, officer and prisoner came to the quaint old- 
fashioned town hall. This cupolaed brick box stood 
at the upper end of Elk’s two-story frame and brick 
business section. 

The half-mile walk in the blistering hot sun had 
sweat off most of the “kick” of Corveau’s ginger 
hooch. All the unsteadiness was gone from his legs 
and all thickness from his tongue. He paused to 
hitch his horse to the gnawed wooden rail at the 
edge of the sidewalk. He then offered Miss Jordan 
his arm up the worn stone steps of the town hall. 



24 


The Two-Gun Man 


She accepted his assistance as seriously as it was 
offered. This act was repeated on the inside stair¬ 
way. 

In the shabby courtroom the age-wizened bald- 
headed little judge had cleared up the day’s scant 
grist of business and was “swapping lies” with the 
attaches and lawyers before adjourning court. 

At sight of the young couple he scrouged his cow¬ 
hide boots down from his judicial bench, knocked 
the ashes from his corncob pipe, and rubbed a red 
bandana over the billiard-ball dome of his head. 

“Well, well, well, if ’tain’t Katie,” he drawled. 
“What you want now, Katie? ’Nother ’scription 
for the heathen Chinee, or— Can’t be you’ve come 
to get hitched to your young man! ” 

He rubbed his half-moon steel-rimmed spectacles 
and pretended to peer through them. 

“ Why, ’tain’t Bull, after all. I ought to known it, 
Katie. You’ll of course go to the parson with Bull, 
and not patronize me a-tall.” 

The tolerant smile with which the girl met this 
banter gave place to a somewhat troubled look. 

“Judge, I have to do my duty as a deputy, but 
I’m sorry. This young man came along when Bullen 
and I — when father’s car broke down. He towed 
us to town.” 

The magistrate beetled his shaggy eyebrows at 
Corveau. 



Shirtsleeve Justice 


25 


“Towed ’em in, heh? D’you plead guilty to the 
crime ? ” 

“No, no, Uncle Drake! It was — it was—he 
had a flask of intoxicating liquor. Bullen has what’s 
left of the evidence. But it’s a shame, when the 
young man was so kind, towing us in.” 

The old judge’s voice became dry and crackly. 

“Just like Bull Lort — ’resting the boy, ’stead of 
chucking the evidence into the creek. Wonder he 
didn’t handcuff him.” 

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t allow that. Couldn’t you 
hurry the trial and acquit him for lack of evidence? 

: He’s not-” 

“ Hold on, your honor,” broke in Corveau. “ I’m 
the criminal in the dock, and I’ve got my lawful 
rights. Before this case goes to trial-” 

“Yes, you’ve got a right to a lawyer, son. Here’s 
the three worst in town. Take your pick. Anyone 
of ’em is qualified to pry you loose from your bottom 
dollar.” 

I Corveau grinned back at the smiling attorneys. 
“Excuse me, gentlemen. What I want is quick 
action. Only first, your honor, I’d like to know if 
it’s true this lady bosses the calaboose.” 

“ She does. It’s the cleanest, neatest hostelry in 
town. What’s more, we’ve had no escapes since she 
took charge.” 

“That settles it, judge! You don’t have to wait 






26 


The Two-Gun Man 


for the evidence. I plead guilty to all charges — 
packing it, drinking it, towing a flivver, surrendering 
to a lady! Go far’s you like. Make it six months 
in her jail. I’m a bad badman.” 

“No, oh, no, judge!” begged Kate. “Make it 
only a fine, and then suspend sentence. Please do! ” 

His honor bit the corner off a plug of tobacco, 
to chew meditatively on it and the judicial problem 
before him. He peered from the face of the “ bad 
badman” to the “twin sixes” of the front-holstered 
belt in Kate’s hand. 

“ Um-m-m — uh. Any young cuss willing to plead 
guilty to towing Bull Lort in a flivver thereby pre¬ 
sents incrim’nating proof he must be drunk or crazy. 
Having no insane ‘doc’ at hand for expert witness, 
we’ll take the accused’s word for it he’s drunk. Any¬ 
body fool ’nough to sample the white mule found in 
these parts needs rest and quiet and improving com* 
p’ny to sober up in. I’ll make it thirty days.” 

Miss Kate Jordan could not repress her righteous 
indignation. 

“Uncle Drake! You ought to be ashamed of 
yourself! Make it a fine. I’ll pay it myself, even 
if it’s as much as ten dollars.” 

“No, you won’t, Katie. I’ll pass over your con¬ 
tempt of court, ’cause you scratched me as ‘uncle’ 
and not as ‘ judge.’ All the same, the sentence stands 
as rendered. This here is a court of justice. The 



Shirtsleeve Justice 


27 


culprit’s cat’ridge belt has got two guns holstered in 

f ron t.Besides, you ain’t earning your 

sal ry, Katie, with nobody in jail— Wait a minute. 
Son, where’d you get the bootleg?” 

Corveau smiled. 

“ Can’t you make it sixty days, judge, for my re¬ 
fusing to blab ? ” 

u Uk-uh. Never had much use for tattletales. 
What’s your name?” 

“Sid—Sidney Corveau.” 

“Alias or real?” 

“ Real, sir.” 

“Well, I’d like to enter it on the records as John 
Doe, but them twin-six guns, and that automatic — 
three guns-” 

“Oh, no, Uncle Drake. The pistol is Bullen’s.” 

“Heh! Disarmed Bull, too, did you — along 
with the bad badman? Well, seeing as how you’ve 
got in all the hardware, and your pris’ner seems so 
anxious to break into jail, mebbe I can trust you to 
take him there, without waiting for Bull or your 
pa.” 

“Of course — though it was Mr. Corveau who 
took Bullen’s pistol from him. But he did it only to 
give it to me for safekeeping with his own. Father 
has gone up to old McQuirk’s in Bullen’s car, to 
see if he can get evidence of that man Dorcy’s boot- 
legging.” 





28 


The Two-Gun Man 


“All right, Katie. Take your pris’ner. Want the 
bailiff to help you handcuff him? Hey, Bill/’ 

“ Don’t bother,” Corveau told the long-legged 
grayhaired court bailiff. “ I’ll do it myself.” 

“ Don’t be silly. Come along,” Kate ordered. 



CHAPTER IV 


HER HOSTELRY 


PRISONER and jaileress stepped through the 



JL jL outer doorway of the town hall Lort came 
hastening up the steps. He stared with narrowed 
eyes. 

“ So you got him here, Kate. Sorry I had to keep 
you waiting. Come back in and we’ll get old Drake 
to slam him for a stiff fine.” 

“Too late!” sighed Corveau. “It’s all over but 
the thirty days. I beat you to it. I done pleaded 
guilty.” 

Kate met Lort’s look of inquiry with a nod. He 
frowned. Corveau smiled from him to the girl, and 
looked down at his travel-worn horse. 

“I take it, ma’am, that sentence covers my bronc, 
too.” 

“Why, of course not. But I’ll have father put 
him in our pasture. He needs a rest, poor thing!” 

“Yes, ma’am, just like me, rest and good chuck 
and improving company. Only trouble, there’s that 
truck. I promised a friend to get it to the Elk 
Creamery.” 

“ Your friend ? Who ? ” demanded Lort with the 
keenness of an alert peace officer. 


29 


30 


The Two-Gun Man 


Corveau shook his head. 

“ Come to think, I don’t know as I’ll admit the 
old tinhorn is a friend. Used to know him, though, 
down in Arizona. I mean Dorcy. Runs that Cold- 
well place.” 

“ He had you drive the truck in?” 

“ You’ve said it. Seems the driver was taken sick, 
and Gig couldn’t leave his store. So, as I was 
headed this way. Savvy?” 

Lort forced a smile and held out his hand. 

“ Guess I slipped a cog, kid. I know that 
driver-” 

“ You ought to,” put in Corveau. “ He was haul¬ 
ing your cream and lettuce.” 

“Of course, and it’s Mr. Lort’s truck, too,” ex¬ 
plained Kate. “Oh, Bullen, I hope that cross-eyed 
man A1 has quit, so you can hire another driver. 
You know father has reason to suspect he’s in with 
Dorcy on the bootlegging.” 

“Just a bit of unreliable hearsay, Kate. I’d like 
to see one of my hired hands show nerve enough to 
double-cross me. But to please you, I’ll shift A1 to 
the ranch kitchen, where he’ll have no chance to run 
any bootleg.” 

“You’re wise,” said Corveau. “As a badman A1 
is second rate, but as a cook he takes the cake. Guess 
those cross eyes help him get the various and sundry 
ingredients mixed.” 






Her Hostelry 


31 


Lort’s powerful face took on the look of a police 
captain inflicting the third degree. 

“What d’you know about that man?” 

“I sent him my love — by way of Gig Dorcy. 
Can’t go back on that, can I? Let’s leave his past 
veiled with the cloak of charity. This is a new deal 
for him. Give him a chance to play fair—but watch 
out if you don’t want the cards stacked on you.” 

The deputy sheriff burst into a deep laugh and 
clapped the prisoner on the shoulder with bluff 
heartiness. 

“You’re all right, kid — and Al, too. About the 
truck, I ran it on down to the Creamery myself. 
Come back into court now. I’ll ask old Drake to 
reopen your case. We’ll turn you loose. You can 
jog on your way without any layover.” 

“Thanks.” Corveau did not seem to see the 
other’s out-held hand. “Happens you don’t know 
the tenderness of my conscience. It won’t let me run 
off when I have such a chance of free board and up¬ 
lifting company. Will it, Miss Kate?” 

“Not if you really are sorry, Mr. Corveau. Un¬ 
tie your horse. The jail used to be in the hall. But 
county business crowded it out. They built a sep¬ 
arate one uptown. Here is your pistol, Bullen.” 

He shoved the big automatic into its holster. 

“I’ll come along and see that the fellow makes 
no trouble.” 



32 


The Two-Gun Man 


Corveau smiled mockingly. 

“Two’s company, Mr. Lort. Three’s a crowd. 
Besides, you can’t keep me out of that jail now, not 
if I have to bust in with an ax.” 

This proved too much for the deputy. With Kate 
present to protect her prisoner, he could not very 
well beat up the bland mocker. His strong face 
hardened. His greenish eyes stared menacingly. 
Yet he passed by into the town hall without so much 
as jostling the prisoner. 

“Oh, dear! Why did you have to tease him?” 
chided Kate. “ He’d have made friends if you’d 
let him.” 

“Yes’um. Only, as my gran’ma used to say, 
4 Let’s talk about something pleasant; let’s talk about 
pigs.’ ” 

“ Mr. Corveau, you will please remember from 
now on, I am engaged to Mr. Lort.” 

She drew the gauntlet riding glove from her left 
hand. Corveau soberly lifted the shapely capable 
hand and eyed the big blue-white diamond of the 
platinum ring. 

“ It’s a beauty, Miss Kate. Saw one like it once 
in a jewelry window. Must be a pile of money in 
head lettuce,” 

“And cream. Bullen milks sixty cows. It pays 
much better than beef cattle. I’ve been trying to 
get father to go in for milk.” 



Her Hostelry 


33 


“Well, milk’s a good deal easier on the throat 
and morals than raw moonshine.” 

The unhitched broncho started to trail them back 
up-town. Kate studied the face of her prisoner. 

“You’re making fun of what you did. You’re 
not sorry at all.” 

“The cases are mixed, ma’am. I’m honest-to- 
goodness plumb full of regrets I took in that hooch. 
It’s worse than peon mescal or even Apache tizwin. 
Couldn’t have got outside it a-tall, only the ginger 
sort of cooled the scorch of the fusel oil.” 

“ Just as I said! You’re making a joke of it! ” 

“Can you blame me? How can I help feeling 
happy when I’m going to board at your jail?” 

The real reason for this strange young man’s sub¬ 
missiveness dawned upon the girl. The rich color in 
her cheeks deepened. But her eyes lost none of their 
steadiness. 

“You’ll find the jail no joke, sir — nor me, 
either! ” 

“Not by a jugful, ma’am. I feel mighty meek 
and mild. I’ve got high hopes your cooking’s as 
good as your peace-officering. As for your cala¬ 
boose, I’m mindful of what the escaped poet wrote: 
‘Stone walls — do not — a pris — un make; nor i — 
ron bars — a cage .’” 

This time she looked at him with more than a 
trace of maternal concern. 



34 


The Two-Gun Man 


“That awful moonshine! Sometimes it leaves 
people stark crazy.” 

“’Tis not the glamour of the moonshine, lady. 
’Tis the sunshine of thine eyes.” 

The blue eyes flashed. 

“My jail isn’t a lunatic asylum. If you’re going 
to keep up that silly movie talk, I’ll get Bullen to 
batch with you for your thirty days.” 

Corveau dropped his banter. 

“I say, Miss Jordan. Didn’t mean to be flip. 
I know a lady when I meet her. Only, you see, that 
bootleg stuff-” 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, drinking 
it!” 

“ I am. Used to be a booze hound, but I voted 
dry last year.” 

“That makes it all the worse now.” 

“Yes’um. The judge was right, sending me to 
jail to think it over, with your help. But if you get 
that future husband of yours to take your place, I’ll 
turn devil inside three days. That’s straight.” 

“Very well. I’m paid to run the jail, and I do it. 
You heard what Uncle Drake said. One thing, 
though, I can’t allow any silliness. If you under¬ 
stand that, we’ll have no trouble. Turn here.” 

A short walk eastward along the cross street 
brought them to a square brick building that stood 
apart from the few cottages of the vicinity. The 







Her Hostelry 


35 


small windows, high up under the broad eaves, were 
all barred with inch-thick iron rods behind their wire- 
cloth fly screens. 

Kate unlocked the heavy iron-banded door and led 
the way into the jailer’s office. The small place had 
been turned into a cozy sitting-room by the addition 
of window curtains, a pair of rocking chairs, a rug, 
and a few high-colored pictures. The girl laid her 
prisoner’s cartridge belt with its holstered forty-fives 
in a drawer of the desk and took out a cloth to wipe 
the slight film of dust from the desk top. 

Corveau settled down in one of the rockers and 
contentedly started to fan himself with his sombrero. 

“ Nice and cool in here, Miss Kate.” 

She paused with the dustcloth half raised. 

“ You may as well go on into the cellroom. It’s a 
spring lock. The washroom is at the back—piped 
from the kitchen. I’ll start a fire right away if you 
want your bath hot.” 

“ Rather have it cold, weather like this.” 

“Then I’ll give your bed roll a good sunning. 
First, though, I’ll phone for meat. What’s your 
choice — chops, steak or ham?” 

“ Mine’s yours. Fried boot soles, if you like. 
But no more boot leg!” 

As he spoke Corveau pried himself up out of the 
rocker and sauntered over to the steel-grill door of 
the cellroom. It stood ajar. He went in and peered 



36 


The Two-Gun Man 


between the bars. The girl was calling a number 
into the telephone on the wail beside the desk. She 
gave him a confident nod. He clicked shut the big 
spring lock of the prison door. 

The cellroom was unlike any he had ever before 
seen. No spot or speck of dust on the well-oiled 
floor. Walls snowy with whitewash. Cheerful-hued 
curtains at every cell window. Everywhere artistic 
magazine-cover pictures in neat rustic frames. 

“ My ante! ” Corveau murmured his more than 
astonishment. “What would home be without 
mother! ” 

Back in the washroom he found soap and scrub 
brushes, as well as tub and water. After a thorough 
session with them all, he went out to choose his cell. 
Each of the seven in the row was as clean as the 
others, and the planks of its bunk were as bare and 
hard. He chose the,one nearest the office door. 

His refreshing nap was broken by a jovial hail: 

“Roll out, cowboy. Chuck — chuck. Come and 
get it.” | 

In the open doorway stood a stout, not to say fat, 
grizzle-haired man. His small light blue eyes 
twinkled good-humoredly in a face whose pudginess 
did not hide a featural resemblance to Kate’s short 
straight nose, wide forehead and generous mouth. 
But the chin lacked the round firmness of hers. On 
the front of the cotton shirt glinted a polished star. 




Her Hostelry 


37 


Corveau sat up on his bunk, blinking the sleep 
from his eyes. 

“ Howdy, howdy, sheriff.” 

“Trot along, boy. Steak’s ’bout broiled. Kate 
says we can chance you’ll behave.” 

“ If I can’t, sir, I’ll try mighty hard to learn how 
from her.” 

“That’s right. She told me all about it. Be a 
Christian and forgive Bullen. He meant well. You 
couldn’t ask for a better friend. He elected me. 
He’s a strong man — just about runs this county 
now. If you expect to locate here, better make it up 
with him. It’ll pay you.” 

“ I savvy.” 

The dryness of Corveau’s tone did not prevent the 
sheriff from giving him a cordial handshake. 

“That’s the ticket, boy. He may be a bit rough- 
spoken at times, but he’s square and white. I 
couldn’t get along without him. He ought to’ve been 
sheriff, ’stead of me. I wouldn’t have run, only he 
said it ought to go to an old-timer of known stand¬ 
ing, and he agreed to serve as my deputy.” 

“Sort of family affair?” 

“No. It’s only since election that he and Kate 
took up. What got me hitched with him was the 
need to wipe out the bootleg gang that’s operating 
through these parts. I figured the last incumbent in 
this office must have stood in with the outfit. Bullen 



38 


The Two-Gun Man 


agreed with me. We’d have done more, only he’s 
been enlarging his dairy. I’ve been thinking of a 
second deputy. Kate has good judgment. Perhaps, 
if you’ve ever served-” 

41 1 have.” 

“You can give references?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, then— Hard as we’ve tried, we can’t 
seem to get a finger on those scoundrels. Kate 
thinks perhaps we can use you, after you’ve served 
your sentence, if you’re willing to make up with Mr. 
Lort.” 

“ I’ll consider the condition, sir. Plenty of time — 
thirty days.” 




CHAPTER V 


THE PUNCHER 

K ATE had made a home of the cramped little 
dining-room and kitchen, and her cooking 
proved to be all that Corveau had hoped for. He 
showed himself a model prisoner by eating all that 
was set before him and asking for more. Better 
still, he was neat about it. His table manners 
equalled her own, and he co talk on other sub¬ 
jects than cows and politics. 

After the meal he insisted upon washing the dishes 
before going back to the cellroom. Kate wiped. It 
Was great fun. Only trouble, that ring on the third 
finger of her left hand. The big blue-white stone 
could not have cost a cent under a thousand dollars. 

The work finished, they went back into the dining¬ 
room, where her father was poring over an old 
family Bible. He read a few verses aloud, stum¬ 
bling and halting. But Corveau noted Kate’s rev¬ 
erent look and copied it. 

When Jordan closed the great book, the girl gave 
Corveau a smile of grave approval and offered him 
a pocket Testament. 

“ Perhaps you’d like to read it yourself, Sidney.” 
A gift from her! If she had offered him a lighted 

39 


40 


The Two-Gun Man 


bomb, he would have accepted it with gratitude. 

The gift marked the close of his delightful eve¬ 
ning. She brought in his sunned and aired blankets 
and saw him to the door of the cellroom. For the 
second time he locked himself in. He fell asleep 
with a smile on his lips. 

But in the morning, after he had helped with the 
breakfast dishes, the situation lost its joys. Kate 
sent him back to the cellroom with his noon-time 
lunch, and went off with her father. Solitary con¬ 
finement was more than he had bargained for. He 
would have preferred hard labor. The hours 
dragged with tormenting slowness. 

He came to the evening meal heavy in spirit. If 
Miss Kate intended to go off this way every day 
the joke was on him. She did not notice his de¬ 
pressed look. Her concern was centered upon her 
father, whose face looked still more glum than the 
prisoner’s. The old man was downright troubled. 
She tried to soothe his worriment. 

“ Don’t you think, father, I could talk Lefty into 
staying? ” 

“No. He’s gone by now. Said Bullen had to 
have him to drive the truck. Just when I need a 
rider, and can’t get one! ” 

Corveau saw his chance. 

“How about me?” 

“You?” 




The Puncher 


41 


“Yes. No cost to you, either. I’ll be working 
out my thirty days.” 

“ But — it’s thirty days in jail.” 

“ The warden of your penitentiary sends out gangs 
to build roads. Why can’t you make me a trusty?” 

“ Suppose you took a notion to run off?” 

“You couldn’t drive me off with a club. I’ll leave 
it to Miss Kate if you could. Besides, come to 
think, the judge didn’t say jail. It was just thirty 
days of improving company. You can’t call it im¬ 
proving company for Miss Kate to go away and 
leave me all day in solitary confinement.” 

“ I had to do some shopping and go home to 
feed the chickens,” Kate defended herself. “ I 
couldn’t let them starve, could I?” 

“ Course not. That’s just it. There’s the stock, 
too. It’ll be a whole lot better for them and me if 
you put me to working out my sentence, ’stead of 
chewing the bitter cud of remorse in criminal soli¬ 
tude.” 

“ Why-” 

“Yes’um, Miss Kate, criminal solitude. At sun¬ 
rise this morning the shadows of the window bars lay 
’cross my shirt just like convict stripes. Made me 
feel as if I was a branded horsethief. The iron 
entered my soul. I’d rather use your papa’s iron on 
his calves.” 

“Oh, father! To have him feel that way! And 





42 


The Two-Gun Man 


he towed us in. And Bullen took a drink of it, too. 
And he was sorry. He wanted to get Uncle Drake 
to set aside the sentence, only Sidney wouldn’t let 
him.” 

Sheriff Jordan twinkled his eyes at the prisoner. 

“You in with that bootleg outfit?” 

“No, sir.” 

“All right. I’ll make you a trusty. Drake won’t 
raise any rumpus. He knows Bullen is down on you, 
and he hates him like poison. We may’s well go 
home tonight, Katie.” 

For the third time Corveau had the pleasure of 
helping Kate “do” the dishes. He even volun¬ 
teered to mop the kitchen floor. When she locked 
up the jail, everything about it was neat and clean 
and orderly. 

The three of them drove off through the twilight 
in the repaired flivver. Corveau sat in the rear seat 
beside his bed roll. On the way out of town Jordan 
raised his fat hand or called a friendly greeting to 
almost every man, woman and child they met. The 
answers showed that both he and Kate were liked 
as well as respected. 

At the ranch Corveau popped out like a boy and 
raced ahead to open the big old counter-balance gate. 
Going up the drive he made out through the dusk 
the rows of hollyhocks on each side. Here was a 
real home. Not but what Miss Kate could have 



The Puncher 


43 


made a joyous home of a nester’s shack on an alkali 
flat, simply by being there. 

Lefty’s quarters had been in the old bunk-house, 
out near the barn. But he himself was given a room 
in her home. Perhaps they wanted to keep him 
under guard. No, his window lacked bars. To get 
away he need only unhook the screen and swing down 
from the eaves of the porch. They really trusted 
him. 

Breakfast at dawn, and no lingering to help with 
the dishes. Jordan knew what to expect of a real 
top-rider. One day in jail had been rest enough and 
to spare. Corveau found it fun to slap his saddle 
on a half-broken broncho and go plunging off 
through the dew-drenched grass. 

All that day and the next he worked hard, repair¬ 
ing fences. Small as were Jordan’s holdings com¬ 
pared with the enormous ranches of farther west and 
south, the fences ran up and down over all kinds of 
gullies and rocky ground and through scrub that 
made Corveau thankful for his old leather chaps. 
The worst places had been shirked by Lefty. In 
many of these Corveau found wires sagging loose 
or even entirely down. They had to be stretched 
and nailed fast with staples. 

Neither day did he get in for supper until after 
nightfall. 

“Same old Lefty,” he remarked, the second eve- 




44 


The Two-Gun Man 


ning. “ Fair to middling worker — if you stand over 
him with a club. You didn’t lose him any too soon. 
Wonder is your Herefords haven’t leaked out all 
over the Rockies.” 

“They would have, son, if there were enough 
head to’ve cut down the grass and set ’em drifting 
back over the hills. But only half a thousand, all 
told—steers and stockers. Soon’s you get the fences 
tight I’m going to begin buying calves.” 

This sent Corveau back to his work next morning 
brisker than ever. He completed his circuit of the 
fences close upon sunset. 

As he walked down the drive after stabling the 
horse he had ridden, he saw a big maroon touring 
car alongside the house. In it reposed Jordan. At 
sight of Corveau he raised a beckoning hand, called 
in through the side porch, and started to move his 
bulk from the car. Before he reached the ground, 
Lort came striding from the porch. Kate stopped 
in the doorway, a hand at her breast. 

Lort’s manner, the look of all three, spelled 
trouble. Corveau’s dark eyes brightened. His lips 
quirked with a de’il-may-care smile. He was un¬ 
armed. 

“Step lively,” ordered Lort. “We’re waiting.” 

Corveau quickened his pace, his face aglow with 
eager excitement. 

“ Milly, Milly, come and get killed!” he mur- 



The Puncher 


45 


mured. “Well, Mr. Jordan, I finished that fence 
riding—every staple driven that’s needed.” 

Jordan started to reply, hesitated, and coughed 
behind his pudgy hand. Lort spoke for him: 

“You’re nailed yourself, you slick gunman. 
Learned all about your record from A1 and Lefty 
and Gig. Only heard of you being loose, though, 
when Lefty came back from town this p. M. Other¬ 
wise I’d have been in before to give you what’s com¬ 
ing to you.” 

“Go ahead and shoot me up,” taunted Corveau. 
“ Don’t be scared to draw on me. Miss Kate still 
has my guns.” 

“You’re not worth the powder and lead. I’m 
first going to jam down your throat what I think 
of the kind of sneak you are, you murderous gun¬ 
man!” 

The smile on Corveau’s lips broadened. 

“That so? Well, I never lied to a man’s face or 
called him names when I was heeled and he wasn’t. 
Is that your specialty? ” 

“Oh, Sidney!” cried Kate. “Then — then you 
claim it’s not true that you killed four men?” 

“No, ma’am. It is true, and I’m not ashamed 
of it. You see-” 

“Hear him!” Lort almost shouted. “Not only 
owns up, but wants to brag of it, the cold-blooded 
killer!” 




46 


The Two-Gun Man 


The easy good-natured face of Jordan had grown 
harsh. 

“Not ashamed? Yet he confesses to four mur¬ 
ders. And we treating him like a member of the 
family!” 

Corveau gave him a contemptuous glance and 
turned to speak to Kate. She flung up a hand to 
shut off the sight of him from her horrified eyes. 
His face went white under its bronze. Lort laughed 
derisively. 

“Told you you’d get what’s coming to you. 
There’s still more, Kate. Because Lefty and A1 
were friends of O’Keefe, his last victim, he has 
trailed them up here to murder them also, no doubt 
from behind, the way he shot O’Keefe.” 

Slowly and gently Corveau stepped closer to con¬ 
front the thick-bodied, thick-limbed deputy. Rims 
of white showed under his dark irises. He spoke 
softly: 

“ That is a double lie. I didn’t even know A1 and 
Lefty were out of Mexico. As for Pat O’Keefe, he 
saw it coming. His gun was out before I drew mine, 
and I’ll say for him he was ten times quicker with 
a gun than this butter-fingered deputy in front of 
me.” 

“Think so?” 

Lort’s hand jerked back to the holster on his hip. 
Out lashed Corveau’s small hard fist. It struck the 




The Puncher 


47 


point of Lort’s jaw. He toppled backwards. Just 
as his shoulders hit the ground his clutching hand 
whipped the automatic from its holster. 

But Corveau was already in the air. He had 
leaped as swiftly as he had struck. He came down 
full weight with his heels upon the thick arm and 
wrist of the pistol hand. The jolt loosened the grip 
of the powerful fingers. Corveau kicked the pistol 
aside and leaped clear. 

Up bounded Lort, with a roar, only to go down 
again even quicker than the first time. Corveau had 
stepped in and struck like a flash. But, though he 
could knock down the thickset deputy, he could not 
knock him out. For that the massive jaw would 
have required a jolt from a good heavyweight boxer. 

As before, Lort came up roaring. Only this time 
he held his heel-numbed right forearm close before 
his chin. Corveau ripped in a lightning drive to the 
midbody. Lort gasped, staggered. He struck out 
with his left hand in a crook-fingered blow that 
grazed the side of Corveau’s ducking head. 

Corveau whipped a “ chin-chopper ” up under 
Lort’s guard. The slashing uppercut proved no less 
effective than the drives to the point of the chin. 
Back flew the big head, over toppled the thick body. 
But, in the same instant, the out-clutching left hand 
closed upon Corveau’s arm. 

Swiftly as the smaller man twisted the arm, he 



48 


The Two-Gun Man 


could not wrench it free from that terrible grip. 
He was dragged down on top of Lort. He lashed 
his fists into the face of his captor with the frenzied 
fury of a trapped wildcat . . . . like a wild¬ 

cat in the paws of a grizzly. 

The thick arms gripped across his neck and fore¬ 
body, crushed him against the broad chest. He 
was held too close to strike effectively. He sought 
to clutch Lort’s throat. But his head was jammed 
hard under the left side of the massive jaw. He 
could get only an ineffective one-handed hold. No 
chance for him now. Some men he knew would 
have won free by eye-gouging. He was not that 
kind. 

The frightful pressure of those arms was suffocat¬ 
ing him, crushing his bones. His strength spent it¬ 
self in one last frenzied struggle to break loose. He 
went suddenly limp. 

Lort grunted and rolled over on top of his help¬ 
less enemy. He shifted his bear-hug to grasp Cor- 
veau’s throat in a throttling clutch. His eyes glared 
down, green with cold rage. 



CHAPTER VI 


HATE AND KATE 

F ROM Corveau’s first lightning blows to his 
strangling gasps for breath the fight had flashed 
with bewildering swiftness into paralyzing suspense. 
Corveau’s purpled face started to blacken. His 
tongue thrust out. His eyes uprolled. 

Then, at last, terror burst the bonds of Kate 
Jordan’s stupefaction. She cried out. She darted 
to fling herself down and grasp Lort’s wrists. As 
well might she have tugged at iron bars set in solid 
rock. 

Stirred by her cries, her father lumbered in to pull 
at Lort’s shoulder. He mumbled brokenly: 

“Hey, hey, Bullen! You oughtn’t to — to do 
that. Get off! You — you’re choking him!” 

Lort was beside himself with rage. He paid no 
more heed to Jordan’s protests than to the frantic 
voice and hands of Kate. Corveau’s face was now 
quite black. A little more, and nothing could have 
saved him. Kate stripped off her engagement ring. 
She thrust it close under Lort’s face. 

“ Take it! ” she cried. “ I’m done with you! ” 
The glitter of the big diamond focused the gaze 
of Lort’s glaring eyes. He stared at it, his death- 
49 


50 


The Two-Gun Man 


clutch on Corveau’s throat slowly relaxing. He 
turned his scowling face to peer at the girl. She 
stared back at him, her eyes dark with horror and 
repulsion. 

He heaved himself to his feet. She bent over 
Corveau’s limp body to feel his heart. Lort growled 
and dragged her up into his arms. His words came 
thick and harsh: 

“You .... touch that — dirt — I’ll smash 
him!” 

Kate forced her clenched hands up between them. 
She again thrust the ring at his face. 

“Dirt? You’re as bad! Killed him!” 

Lort gripped her tighter, but paused to peer down 
over his shoulder. Jordan had knelt astride the 
throttled man and was pumping his arms in the old 
method of resuscitating a drowned person. Past 
Corveau’s blackened tongue and lips came a faint 
gasp. More gasps followed, each louder than the 
one before. They merged into a deep wheezing. 

“Oh!” sighed Kate. “Oh, thank God! Bullen, 
you’re not a — you did not kill him! ” 

All the glare had gone from Lort’s eyes. He gave 
the girl a look of surprise. 

“What! Me kill the little shrimp? You ought 
to’ve known I just wanted to throw a scare into him. 
He’ll be only too glad now to clear out. Good rid¬ 
dance. We have no use in this county for two-gun 




Hate and Kate 


51 


men with murder records.” 

“But you yourself, Bullen? I saw your face! 
Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him, but you looked 

it.” 

“What if I did? You’re, not his girl. You’re 
mine! ” 

His eyes flamed with a love as intense as the rage 
that had glared from them only a few moments be¬ 
fore. Kate sought to draw herself free. He held 
her fast. He bent over and forced her averted face 
around and kissed her. Though she did not struggle, 
her lips were stiff and cold. 

“There,” he said. “I’ve shown you. Put my 
ring on again.” 

“You made me drop it.” 

He freed her and stepped back. The ring fell 
from between them into the scuffled dust at his feet. 
When he straightened from picking it up he found 
Kate gazing down past him at Corveau. Though 
; still purple and wheezing, the two-gun man had re¬ 
gained consciousness. He was trying to smile. 

Lort grasped Kate’s left hand and sought to put 
his ring back on the third Anger. She clenched the 
hand. 

“ Wait. Not now. I couldn’t bear it now-—with 
him still lying there.” 

“ He won’t be long. I’ll kick him clean across the 
river. Anyhow, what has he to do with us? We’re 




52 


The Two-Gun Man 


engaged. Open up that finger.” 

“No. If you force it on, I’ll throw it away.” 
“What!” 

“Are you going to choke me, too, Bullen?” 

The question brought him up short. 

“But — we’re engaged. Your promise?” 

“I gave my promise to a man; not to a brutal 
bully who chokes boys half his size.” 

“You heard him call me a liar. Think any man 
would stand for that? Then he took me by sur¬ 
prise— knocked me down.” 

“When you started to draw on him. You had 
called him names. No matter how true about his — 
his past, he was unarmed, and you so much stronger. 
Don’t you see?” 

No mere bully can be boss of even a mountain 
county. Brains are necessary as well as will power. 
Lort no longer was in a rage. He realized that not 
all women like cave-man tactics. Kate evidently be¬ 
longed to the higher type. He changed his tone. 

“ Is that fair, taking for granted I meant to 
shoot? How did I know he didn’t have still another 
gun under his arm or in that greaser sash? All I 
intended was a good old-fashioned tap of the butt 
on his head. That would have been a lot pleasanter 
for him than my having to squeeze the wind out of 
him because I felt sure every minute he’d stick a 
knife into me.” 



Hate and Kate 


53 


“Oh-h— if that was it. But you kept on, after 
he was helpless, almost dead.” 

“Listen, Kate; listen to reason. You’re a real 
Christian, like I hope to become by being with you. 
But you’re not one of the mushy sob-sisters that can’t 
bear to hurt even a rattlesnake. You’ve got sense. 
This fellow is a killer, a murderer.” 

“That’s a baldfaced lie,” gasped Corveau. 

Lort glowered down at him. 

“ It will be the wrecked-faced truth if I put my 
heel on your map. We have the testimony of A1 
and Lefty and your friend Gig Dorcy. What’s more, 
you’ve owned up to the killings.” 

“Leave him be, Bullen — and let go my hand,” 
said Kate. “This matter is between us, not him.” 

“ Glad you admit it. If you’re ready to put on 
the ring and quit cookying him-” 

“No. I shall keep the ring. But I’ll not put it 
on now. I shall wait and see.” 

“I’ve got your promise. You’re no liar. You 
can’t break your promise to me.’ 

“ Not if you prove yourself the man I believed you 
to be, Bullen. You were generous to father. You 
made him sheriff, instead of yourself. You seemed 
kind and considerate as well as strong. But ever 
since this poor boy came here-” 

“ Poor wolf! ” 

“He didn’t act like one. He brought in your 





54 


The Two-Gun Man 


truck to oblige a man he really doesn’t like. We 
did not even have to ask him to tow us to town. It’s 
true he had that liquor. But you also took a drink 
of it.” 

“To make sure it was bootleg.” 

“Well, he didn't attempt to sell any to you. He 
was only trying to be friendly. And then you had 
to go and arrest him! ” 

“ Sure I did. A two-gun man in possession of my 
truck. I’d the right to think he had high-jacked it.” 

The instant after the term passed Lort’s grim lips 
he cast a sharp glance down at the subject of their 
talk. Corveau still lay on his back. The finger 
tips of one hand were gingerly feeling his bruised 
neck. His face was all screwed up. Small chance 
of a fellow in such pain giving heed to anything else. 

Lort permitted his attention to shift back in time 
to catch Kate’s reply: 

“ It was not alone your arresting him, Bullen. If 
you hadn’t tried to handcuff him he would have gone 
quietly. He said he would.” 

“The promise of a gunman, of a self-confessed 
killer!” 

“ He has behaved ever since. I know he’d have 
kept on behaving if you hadn’t come here and made 
him angry.” 

“ Forget it, Kate, forget it. That’s all over with 
now. I’ll saddle his broncho myself. He can have 



Hate and Kate 


55 


> 


his chance to make himself scarce. Only thing, he’s 
got to beat it clean out of the county and stay out.” 

“ You forget he’s in my custody, not yours, Bullen. 
I must answer for him to Uncle Drake.” 

“ I’ll fix that cackling old gander. He’ll walk 
turkey, or—-” 

“No. And you’ll do nothing to my prisoner. 
Unless you promise to leave him alone and go away 
now, I’ll never again put on your ring.” 

“Kate!” 

“I mean it. Do you promise, or don’t you?” 

Lort jerked around to his car. His pistol lay 
under the running board. He snatched it up and 
slammed shut the tonneau door left open by Jordan. 

“ Do you promise?” insisted Kate. 

“What d’you suppose? I’m going, ain’t I?” 

The front car door clashed behind him. He 
shoved his bulk into the driver’s seat, roared the en¬ 
gine, and crashed into reverse. The big car shot 
backwards down the drive at reckless speed. As it 
passed the gateway it curved towards town, only to 
jerk to a stop and shoot forward through the twi¬ 
light along the road for Coldwell. 

Then, at last, Kate turned to fix her troubled gaze 
upon her father. He stood mopping his pudgy face 
with a blue bandana. His look was almost comically 
doleful. 

“You — you oughtn’t to’ve sent him off mad, 




56 


The Two-Gun Man 


Katie,” he reproached. “ I can’t run my office with¬ 
out his help — and there’s our obligation to him for 
electing me.” 

“I know — I know it, father.” She stared wide- 
eyed at the glittering diamond of Lort’s ring. “ Yes, 
I promised him. But—” The hand with the ring 
thrust down into the pocket of her skirt. “ But 
every officer should obey the law himself. He would 
have kept on with that choking! ” 

“No, he wouldn’t, daughter. You heard him say 
he only wanted to throw a scare into the fellow. He 
didn’t mean-” 

Corveau came to his feet with a suddenness that 
startled the stolid Jordan into a quick backward step. 
The marks of Lort’s throttling fingers were black on 
the prisoner’s throat. He swayed as if still dizzy. 
All signs of pain had left his face. But the smile 
on his thin lips was not pleasant to see. His eyes 
showed those under-rims of white. Lort’s frightful 
stranglehold had almost crushed his vocal cords. 
His voice came low and hoarse: 

“I’ll show him how scared I am. Good as called 
me a rattlesnake. The liar! I’ll show him. And 
you—” The white-rimmed eyes stared close into 
Jordan’s slack-jowled face, “Heck of a sheriff, you 
are! Stand by and watch a man hand-hung! ” 

Kate clutched out and jerked him face-about. 

“Don’tyou dare threaten my father! You — you 





Hate and Kate 


57 


killer! Shame on you ! ” 

The smile left Corveau’s lips. 

“So you believe that?” 

“ Why shouldn’t I ? Bullen is not the kind of man 
to lie, and he has those three witnesses.” 

“Them? Bah! You had Lefty here, and you 
know what you think of Gig Dorcy. Add Al, and 
you have a penny-ante hand—three of a kind, only 
you need a lot of sheep-dip in the jackpot to disin¬ 
fect ’em.” 

The sarcasm shook Kate’s assurance. 

“But—your carrying two pistols that way? In 
court I thought you meant it for a joke when you 
said you were a badman. Yet here you admit all 
those killings. You say you’re not ashamed!” 

Corveau’s lips tightened. 

“When I started to give my side of it, you jerked 
up your arm, acted as if I was a hydrophobia skunk.” 

Jordan had at last found his tongue. 

“You acted like one, assaulting Mr. Lort.” 

“ Sure, just like a murderous killer—way I kicked 
his gun out of reach, ’stead of grabbing it and filling 
him full of his own sinkers.” 

This, to Kate, shed a sudden new light on the * 
matter. It was true. No cat could have spat out 
and pounced quicker. He need only have jumped 
for the pistol after kicking it out of Lort’s reach. 
Yet he had not armed himself. He had waited to 




58 


The Two-Gun Man 


knock his enemy down again with his bare hands, the 
second time — and Lort far heavier and stronger. 

She sought to speak justly. 

“ If we are in the wrong over you. 

But how about those four killings ? ” 

“No, ma’am.” Corveau’s voice quivered with 
hurt pride. “You wouldn’t listen then. You be¬ 
lieved him, without giving me a chance to say a 
word. I haven’t anything to say now.” 

“I have,” broke in Jordan. “You heard Mr. 
Lort’s warning to skip the country. I’ll add mine. 
No man can stand up to him and not get the worst 
of it. Best start at once. That will give you all 
night to get away.” 

Corveau looked off at the black shadows of dusk 
creeping up the gorges towards the dying after-glow 
on the snowy mountain peaks of the Continental 
Divide. 

“All night to get him!” he muttered. 

Between his eyes and those creeping black shad¬ 
ows came a white face. The twilight was still clear. 
He could see deep into her wide blue eyes. It was as 
if they were open windows and he was looking 
through their crystal depths right into her soul. 

In her voice, as in her look, was no trace of fear 
or scorn or pleading; only quiet reproach. 

“Are you going to prove what they said of you?” 

“Prove? You’re like them. You want to make 





Hate and Kate 


59 


me run off and prove it that way.” 

“I don’t. There’s your court sentence. You are 
in my custody. You’re going to stay until the end 
of the thirty days. Only, I want your promise to 
behave.” 

A smile quirked the corners of Corveau’s lips, his 
normal good-humored smile. 

“You win, Miss Kate. I won’t horn Mr. Bull, 
if you’ll keep him from horning me.” 

Jordan’s astonishment and dismay exploded: 

“Katie! You can’t mean it! You’re not going 
to let him stay on! I can explain to Drake 
how-” 

“No, Father. We are both of us officers of the 
law. We must enforce it.” 

“Well — well, then, we’ll put him back in jail, 
where he belongs.” 

Kate met this with feminine logic. 

“ That’s just the point, Father. He doesn’t belong 
there. He has promised to behave. And the sen¬ 
tence was to improve him. He’ll improve better 
here than in jail. It’s perfectly safe. He turned 
over his pistols to stay in my keeping. Didn’t you, 
Sidney?” 

“What does that amount to?” complained 
Jordan. “Hasn’t he twice got Bullen’s gun away 
from him? He could grab mine any time, before 
I knew it. He’s like a streak of greased lightning. 




60 


The Two-Gun Man 


Besides, what will Bullen say?” 

“He must behave, too — else I’ll never again put 
on his ring. I will not marry a man who wants to 
kill anybody.” 

“ Don’t blame you, far as he’s concerned,” said 
Corveau. “How about eats? Pair of camp birds 
got away with half my lunch. Guess I could manage 
to swallow some spoon-vittles.” 

“Oh, your poor throat.Come right in.” 

She hurried ahead to light a lamp and open the 
old medicine cabinet. The idea of having his bruised 
neck tied up amused Corveau. But he meekly sub¬ 
mitted to the compress of cotton drenched with 
witch-hazel. It felt nice and cool — like her lingers. 

And she cooked him a special meal of soft food 
as if he was an invalid. After all, he had the better 
of Lort over that choking. The big fourflusher was 
not getting boiled custard or having his neck 
wrapped up. 




CHAPTER VII 


SET ON A HAIR 

M ORNING found Jordan still uneasy. He 
could not hide his suspicions of the prisoner 
who had failed to explain those four killings. 
Rather hesitatingly he gave his orders for the day’s 
work. Corveau listened with respectful seriousness. 

“That all, sir? Just bunch the cows and calves 
in the south valley, and throw the steers over the 
north ridge?” 

“ It’s enough to keep you on the jump all day and 

tomorrow and perhaps-” 

“Tomorrow is Sunday, father.” 

“So it is.” 

Corveau wondered at their remarking the fact. 
He had come from open range country, where no 
day is better than another when there is work to be 
done. He rode off into the sunrise, humming as 
tunefully as his bruised vocal cords would permit. 
By evening he had made a good start on the cutting 
out of the beef cattle from the Stockers. 

This time when he came to the house he saw 
no sign of the big maroon car or of Lort. Nor was 
anything said about the deputy all evening, though 
Kate sat up a full hour later than usual. Her father 



62 


The Two-Gun Man 


drowsed in his easy chair, smoking a second pipe, 
while she showed Corveau her album of snapshots. 

After the many pictures of the home ranch and 
the road to Col dwell came several views of another 
ranch, or rather, farm. A great field of rippling 
grain — oats, Kate said; a small dilapidated ranch 
house backed by a wooded ridge; sheds and feed 
lots; a herd of sleek Shorthorns; a huge many-win¬ 
dowed barn; a field of head lettuce that looked like 
cabbages. 

The quickness with which Kate passed over these 
views told Corveau they were of Lort’s lettuce and 
dairy farm. He turned back to compare the first 
and last buildings. 

“That’s one way to buy big diamond solitaires — 
fat barn and lean house.” 

“ It’s the old house. He has built almost every¬ 
thing else new since he foreclosed his mortgage on 
the ranch, two years ago. He has—” The girl’s 
color deepened, “He has had me help him plan the 
new house.” 

Corveau felt at the little Testament in the breast 
pocket of his shirt. 

“I don’t blame him, Miss Kate —don’t blame 
him a little bit. I’d do the same, in his place. Only 
— I’ve been reading this book you gave me. There’s 
a verse, ‘From him that has shall be taken all that 
he has.’ ” 



Set on a Hair 


63 


“No, Sidney. You have it wrong. ‘Unto him 
who hath shall be given, and from him who hath 
not shall be taken even that which he hath.’ It 
means — it means you must have rightness. Do you 
see?” 

“ Sabe Dios . I’ll take your word for it. ” 

“ But it’s so clear. It goes with that other verse: 
‘ For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the 
whole world and lose his own soul?”’ 

“ I get you,” said Corveau. “ But he has it fixed 
that you’re to furnish the hair for him.” 

“ Hair ? Why, what in goodness do you mean ? ” 
The brown-black eyes gazed back at the puzzled 
blue ones with mild surprise. 

“Haven’t you ever heard about that man down 
in Death Valley? His pack burro bogged in one 
those borax sinks. Takes a twenty-mule team, 
y’know, to haul it out. Mister Man began to cuss. 
Well, that desert down there is below sea-level. It’s 
mighty close to heh — to Old Nick’s home. 

He-” 

“Sidney!” 

“It is. I’ve been there. So when Mister Man 
cusses, Old Nick pops up through the thin crust. 
No shade nearer than ten miles, not even a grease- 
wood bush. Nick starts fanning himself. ‘ Make 
it snappy, bo. This pesky sun! Heard you paging 
me. Name it!’” 




64 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Oh, Sidney, you — you’re telling a story!” 
“Yes’um. Must be a true one; I read it all in 
a magazine. Only I’m brand-blotting it so’s it’ll fit 
in Death Valley — where it belongs. Well, ’tany 
rate, they made a deal. Nick agreed to give him 
all he ordered for a year. End of year Mister Man 
would have to ask for something Nick couldn’t do 
between midnight and daybreak. If Nick did it, he 
got Mister Man’s soul.” 

“Why, that was an old Arab-” 

“No, ma’am. He was just one these stocky, cat¬ 
eyed dairymen . . . . So, in place of the salt- 

borax-alkali flat, he orders an oasis — that’s what 
they call a wet spot in Sahara; and plenty of moon¬ 
shine; a whopping big sparkler for a ring, and a 
fee-awn-say to wear it. She had a fo’gallon hatful 
of wavy brown hair and eyes blue as blue gentians, 

only a shade lighter, and-” 

“ Sidney, I warned you, right there at first, not 
to be silly.” 

“ ’Struth. I saw them, those gentians, coming 
over the Sangre de Christo Range into Wet Moun¬ 
tain Valley. Well, last day of his year, Mister Man 
savvies Nick has him hog-tied. Hollers to the lady 
for help. She gives him one single solitary hair 
from her head. ‘Ask Nick to straighten that,’ she 
says. The more Nick tries it, the more it curls. 
Sort of permanent wave-” 










Set on a Hair 


65 


“That’s enough! You started to talk about 
sacred verses. Then you turn them into a joke! ” 

Corveau looked soberly into the indignant blue 
eyes. 

“ It ain’t any joke at all, ma’am. One hair from 
your head is enough to save a man’s soul. That’s 
speaking figuratively. But it’s God’s truth.” 

The indignation melted from the blue eyes. They 
misted over. 

“ Good night, Sidney. It’s nice of you to say it. 
But I’m just an ordinary girl. If only I could help 
you and Bullen, I’d give every hair on my head.” 

“ Don’t you do it! I’d rather stay bad than that. 
You’d have to wear a wig.” 

This was too much for even Kate’s gravity. She 
went out smiling. Corveau discovered that her 
father had dozed off to sleep. He shook him awake 
and heaved hard to boost his bulk up out of the 
easy chair. 

“Talk about a bogged steer! Coming up, 
pa.There you are.” 

“Thanks.” Jordan’s eyes twinkled between 
blinks. “ I must have gone dead to sleep. Hope 
you behaved.” 

“ I’m trying to, sir. I want to win a hair if I can.” 

“You what?” 

“Trouble is, I’m set on a hair-trigger. I need 
a safety-catch. Good night.” 




66 


The Two-Gun Man 


At gray dawn he was down to make the fire for 
Kate. Red dawn came, and still she had not ap¬ 
peared. Maybe she was peeved at him. He fried 
his own bacon and eggs. Too late to mix up flap- 
jacks. Anyway, her bread was the best he had ever 
eaten. 

The sun had risen before he got out to rope one 
of the bronchos in the horse corral. As he cinched 
his saddle, Kate called and beckoned to him from 
the kitchen door. The broncho took him to her on 
a bucking run. 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“This is Sunday. No work. If you’ll please do 
father’s chores. He’s feeling a bit under the 
weather.” 

Corveau raced back to the corral. A whole day 
to visit with her! Only the tone in which she had 
spoken of Sunday checked him from swinging his 
hat and yelling. 

When it came to her extra good breakfast, he had 
eaten his full share before she remembered some¬ 
thing. 

“You were going oft with nothing to eat, Sidney.” 

“Why, no. I first helped myself to a little snack 
— pan of bacon and eggs, bread, coffee, and half 
that lemon pie.” 

Jordan paused, with cheeks bulging, to favor the 
enforced guest with a smile of admiration. 



Set on a Hair 


67 


“You’re a wonder. Where do you put it all?” 

“ I jolted on my heels while doing the chores. 
Don’t think I’d pass up one of Miss Kate’s meals, 
do you?” 

He was equally determined to lose no moment of 
his golden holiday. When Kate started to the ga¬ 
rage for the car, she found it waiting, with Corveau 
at the wheel, scrubbed and shaved. The tie of his 
white silk dress shirt matched his scarlet girdle. Her 
father took the rear seat. Kate sat beside her 
prisoner. 

In front of the little church Lort stood waiting to 
hand his intended wife from her car. Corveau 
stopped just far enough short of him to be able to 
jump out and whip around first to her door. He 
opened it and handed her out. 

Lort came up, wearing his poker face. He took 
Kate’s arm. 

“ Sheriff, Katie wants to go in with me. Will you 
bring along our jailbird?” 

Unable to free her arm without an unseemly 
struggle on the church steps, Kate made a quiet sign 
to Corveau. He sprang to offer his arm, at the side 
opposite Lort. The three of them went up the steps 
together, followed slowly and heavily by Jordan. 
The easy-going portly sheriff looked troubled. Kate 
had not yet put the engagement ring back on her 
finger. Lort was a hard man when crossed. 



68 


The Two-Gun Man 


Corveau’s reputation as a killer had been thor¬ 
oughly advertised throughout the town. People 
stared and shrank as he came up towards the throng 
at the church door. His white silk shirt looked re¬ 
spectable. But that scarlet girdle and big silver- 
banded hat were just what an Arizona desperado 
might be expected to wear. Why was he not hand¬ 
cuffed? And in jail? 

Heads were thrust forward, eager to hear old 
Judge Drake give Kate Jordan a talking-to for let¬ 
ting the murderer out loose. The wizened little 
magistrate stood squarely in the doorway. He 
wagged a bony finger in the girl’s face. 

“Dead set on improving the culprit, heh, Katie? 
Bound to carry out the court’s sentence, heh? Can’t 
say present comp’ny is all of the improving kind. 
Howsomever, if you keep betwixt him and Bull, and 
head off all the he and she gossips that’re aching 
to drool malice and slander, the boy may find a bit 
of charity and fair play in this here Christian con¬ 
gregation— uh-huh, a bit abount the size of a grain 
of mustard seed in a haystack.” 

The caustic little judge stepped aside for Kate 
and her escorts to enter. Pie fell in step with the 
perturbed Jordan. The group of onlookers followed 
them into the church, abashed and thoughtful. 
There were no sibilant whispers or behind-the-hand 
remarks. 



Set on a Hair 


69 


Allowing for Jordan’s bulk and Lort’s thickness, 
the Jordan pew was barely large enough for four. 
Lort looked uncomfortable in the corner at Kate’s 
left elbow. This amused Corveau. He enjoyed sit¬ 
ting snug between her and her father. He was in 
the midst of the family. Lort was on the outer edge. 

Church proved a strange yet interesting experi¬ 
ence. He enjoyed standing beside Kate and singing 
from the hymn book that she shared impartially 
between him and Lort. He bent his head when she 
bent hers. What she thought proper to do was 
proper enough for him. 

He even tried hard to keep his attention upon 
the preacher, the same as she did all through the 
sermon. Never once did he doze off like her father, 
or sit and eye Kate like Lort. He nudged Jordan 
whenever the fat sleeper started to snore. 

On the way out, walking with the still-drowsy 
Jordan, he overheard Kate’s quiet invitation to Lort: 

“We shall be glad to have you to dinner as usual, 
Bullen.” 

“Not if that measly-—” 

“ Uncle Drake also is to be with us.” 

“Him?” muttered Lort. “As if it isn’t enough 
that you haven’t put my ring back on!” 

“That depends on how you behave. Don’t look 
so cross. It’s as if you hadn’t heard a word of what 
Mr. Fanshaw said about there being more rejoicing 




70 


The Two-Gun Man 


in Heaven over one sinner who repents than over 
ninety and nine who need no repentance.” 

Lort set his heavy jaw and said nothing. But once 
outside the church he drew Kate almost forcibly to 
his car and whirled off with her. As Corveau drove 
after them in the flivver, with Jordan and Drake in 
the rear seat, the old judge cackled derisively. 

“ Heh-heh! Looks like Bull’s on a rampage, way 
he’s kicking up the dust. ’F you’re willing to do 
your duty, Hank, and ’rest him for speeding, I won’t 
mind socking him with thirty days and costs.” 

Jordan chuckled at the joke. Corveau semed to 
take it seriously. 

“We can’t overhaul his flivver in this Rolls-Royce, 
your honor. ’Sides, I d’want to, unless you make 
his’n a fine. Miss Kate needs all her time to im¬ 
prove me.” 

“You’ve said it, son. According to the insinooa- 
tions Bull is letting spill all around, you have room 
for consider’ble improving.” 

Corveau stared ahead at the dust cloud of the 
big maroon car. The old flivver jumped like a 
spurred broncho. It did its utmost to rattle out of 
town at double the speed limit. The maroon car 
had made the run at least a third again as fast. 
Jordan remarked, with a touch of pride, that it was 
the speediest car in the county. 

They found Lort camped in the kitchen, watching 



Set on a Hair 


71 


Kate put the finishing touches to the dinner she had 
set on to cook before going to church. Corveau 
did not watch. He pitched in and helped dish up 
the meal, reckless of disaster to his white silk shirt. 

During the meal he was content to sit silent and 
enjoy his food, along with the old judge’s chaffing 
of Lort. It appeared that Drake was the only 
elected official of the county not of Lort’s party 
and following. He had succeeded himself for term 
after term since the days before Kate was born. 
Evidently he was the one big political thorn in the 
side of the new boss of the county, and no less evi¬ 
dently he enjoyed pricking him. 

Though Lort’s eyes narrowed and his mouth 
tightened grimly under the teasing, he was shrewd 
enough to make few replies. He could not match 
tongues with the little judge; nor, with Kate present, 
could he resort to threats or abuse. Jordan did his 
best to turn the point of the gadfly’s stings with his 
good-natured laughter and humorous counter-thrusts. 

To shift the attack from himself, Lort at last be¬ 
gan to make general but highly disagreeable re¬ 
marks about wandering gunmen. He compared 
them with the infamous killers of the old open-range 
and Texas trail days. He ended by giving what he 
said was his father’s description of Billy the Kid. 
In every detail as to size, build, feature, and manner, 
it tallied with the appearance of Corveau. 



72 


The Two-Gun Man 


Kate was last to catch the drift of Lort’s round¬ 
about attack. She darted a startled glance at Cor- 
veau. He met the look with the smile of a pleas¬ 
antly excited boy. She turned to reproach Lort. 
Before she could speak he jerked up in his seat and 
frowned across at Corveau. 

“ Keep your feet at home, you! ” 

“Ah, pahdon me,” lisped Corveau. “Was that 
your boot leg I came up against?” 

Lort’s frown deepened into a scowl. 

“What d’you mean?” 

Corveau gave him back a look of innocent surprise 
and bent to peer under the table. He straightened 
up, blandly apologetic. 

“ I see. You’re wearing low-down dude shoes and 
silk socks. It was only your shin, not your boot 
leg. ’Scuse me. I just couldn’t help going off that 
way. I’m set on a hair-trigger, like that other kid, 
Billy.” 

“Proud of it, are you?” 

“Oh, I’ll leave it to A1 and Lefty to brag how 
quick I am on the draw. I’m pretty handy with my 
fists, too. But I’m not so good as some at stran¬ 
gling a man. Never did fancy a hangman’s job.” 

“Bullen?” gasped Kate. 

Lort scrooched back his chair and heaved himself 
up, purple-faced. 

“ I’ll not eat with a damned killer-” 




Set on a Hair 


73 


“ S-s-sh — s-s-sh! Don’t be scared,” soothed Cor- 
veau. “ Miss Kate still has my guns.” 

The deputy turned upon Jordan. 

“ Best rush him over to the jail at Fairplay. The 
people here are beginning to find out about his rec¬ 
ord.” 

“Whoa, Bull!” cackled Drake. “I reckon a 
dep’ty who incites a mob is as culpable as them that 
lynch the pris’ner. Just you bear in mind, a covert 
threat is grounds for ’spicion, case of any vigilante 
stringing-up here ’bouts.” 

“There is going to be no trouble over my pris¬ 
oner, Uncle Drake,” said Kate. “ Sit down, Bullen, 
do ! Soon as I clear up, you can take me to old Mrs. 
Atkinson’s, up in Twenty-mile Gulch. I have some 
jelly for her. She’s ailing again.” 

Corveau rose to the occasion. 

“Nemmind waiting to do the dishes, Miss Kate. 
I’ll ’tend to ’em.” 



CHAPTER VIII 


CALVES AND COYOTES 

I T WAS no fun acting as dish wrangler while the 
other fellow went off with the girl. But some¬ 
how it felt good to ease things over for Kate. She 
did not seem to be getting much joy out of her en¬ 
gagement to that red-face bull. He needed a jolt 
or two. That might make him a bit more folksy. 

When the cook’s helper took off Kate’s big kitchen 
apron and sauntered out to the side porch, he found 
Drake and Jordan sucking placidly at their corncob 
pipes. But the little judge was quick to catch the 
young man’s half grin and the glint in his eye. 

“ Heh-heh! Looked to see you turn up cussing, 
son.” 

“ I don’t do it all the time, your honor. Some¬ 
times have to stop to catch my breath.” 

“You do, do you? Can’t be a reg’lar bad bad- 
man continuous, heh? What part of Arizona might 
you hail from? ” 

“ Nothing doing, your honor. Maybe I’ll tell you 
after my thirty days are up.” 

“ Hope you’ll be safe away before then, boy,” 
said Jordan. “See here, judge — can’t we get him 
to clear out? I’d like to hire him right along. He’s 

74 


Calves and Coyotes 


75 


an A-one top-hand, and I’m free to admit Bullen 
has picked on him. All the same, he was caught 
with bootleg. Bullen’s my deputy and-” 

“And bound to prod the boy into busting loose,” 
cut in Drake. “How ’bout it, son? Want judicial 
leave to skip the country?” 

“Nobody yet has called me a quitter and got 
away with it, your honor.” 

“ Going to stick it out, heh? Think you’d be safer 
in jail?” 

“Not by a considerable. I’d be like a rat in a 
trap, once he got his mob started.” 

Jordan slapped a pudgy palm on his fat knee. 

“What you two talking about? There’ll be no 
mob. He’s my deputy. He won’t start any mob. 
Just the contrary. He’ll stand by Katie and me and 
fight off lynchers.” 

“ Heh! Katie herself’d stand up ’gainst him and 
all his gang ’fore she’d let ’em lynch her pris’ner. 
What I meant, son, was, d’you figger you’re safe 
enough out loose not to do any bad acting?” 

“ I’ve promised Miss Kate to behave.” 

“ Uh. Well, Hank, you and her saw fit to make 
him a trusty. It’s up to you to pertect your pris’ner. 
He’s got the legal right to stay in this county long 
as he wants. You can tell Bull Lort I said so. Now, 
’bout that bunch of calves. I wouldn’t mind if you’d 
send for ’em first thing tomorrow. Save hauling 




76 


The Two-Gun Man 


more feed to my corral.” 

“ I’m not quite ready, judge. But if it’s any ac¬ 
commodation to you, I’ll ride up with Sid in the 
morning.” 

Corveau tipped back against the side of the house 
in one of the porch chairs and sat, with eyes half 
closed, listening to the talk of the old friends. 
Though now on opposite sides of the political fence, 
Lort seemed to be their only bone of contention. 

Drake branded him as a renegade maverick bull 
that had drifted in, from the Lord knew where, and 
horned his way into the feed lot of county politics. 
The prospective father-in-law defended his son-to- 
be as a solid citizen of proven leadership and busi¬ 
ness ability. 

The old judge waxed caustic over the cold-blood¬ 
edness with which Lort had bought in and foreclosed 
the mortgage on the Stack Falls Ranch. Jordan 
pointed out the ability with which the forecloser had 
developed the ranch into a high-paying investment — 
head lettuce and milk. 

Before Corveau’s narrowed eyes flashed memory 
pictures of Coldwell and the loaded truck and the 
flivver stalled on the heavy mountain grade. That 
was the thing! That was the way to work 
it! ... . His lips twisted in a grin like that of 
the small boy who dangles a scotched garter snake 
on a stick to take home to Sister. 

: $ 8 " 





Calves and Coyotes 


77 


When, in the gloaming, the big maroon car rolled 
up the drive, Drake and Jordan were still puffing 
their corncobs and talking. Corveau presently 
sauntered in from the evening chores. He found 
Lort seemingly tamed. The deputy held out his 
hand and spoke with bluff heartiness: 

“Guess we’ve both been rubbing the other’s fur 
the wrong way, cowboy. Suppose we call quits?” 

Corveau glanced at Kate’s left hand. The 
diamond again sparkled on her third finger. He 
raised his own hands and peered at them, front and 
back. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Lort. They need washing. 
Just in from the barn.” 

He went into the kitchen. When, a few moments 
later, Kate followed to start supper for the guests, 
Corveau was nowhere in sight. 

At daybreak he came down from his room, quiet 
and smiling and dressed for the calf drive. He went 
off delighted with Kate’s promise to ride after him 
as soon as she had done up her housework. Before 
that her father was to follow Corveau in the flivver, 
with the expectation of overtaking him somewhere 
short of Coldweil. 

Corveau rode away at a sober jog. He was on 
his own broncho, which had already been put into 
fine fettle by the few days’ rest. Once out of view 
from the house, Corveau let the animal swing into 



78 


The Two-Gun Man 


a lope. No horse could have held to that pace all 
the way up-valley and over the summit. But Jordan 
had not yet overtaken them when they raced up the 
last easy miles to Coldwell. 

Dorcy sat dozing in the store porch. Roused by 
the thud of hoofs, he took one look at horse and 
rider and lurched for the open doorway. 

“Whoa! pronto!” cried Corveau. 

The storekeeper stopped short and threw up his 
hands. Corveau jumped off, dropped his reins, and 
stepped into the porch, jingling his Spanish spurs. 

“S’down,” he invited. “ Lower’em. I’m not 
going to pump your worthless carcass full of lead. 
Came to pump out, not in.” 

Only half reassured, Dorcy ventured to let down 
his hands and slide into the chair next the one taken 
by his visitor. 

“You—you ain’t mad at me, are you, Sid, ’cause 
I slipped in that ginger med’cine? Figgered you’d 
need it after that mess of cold grub.” 

“ No. I’m not mad even at your joining the anvil 
chorus of A1 and Lefty. As I’ve got it sized up, 
Bull Lort has the whole bunch of you roped and 
hog-tied. Own up.” 

“Why, I— Say, you ain’t packing your guns.” 

“That so? You know I’m a trusty, don’t you? 
D’you suppose I’d be allowed to lug ’em around in 
plain sight?” 



Calves and Coyotes 


79 


“ Uh — come to think, I don’t figger you’re 
’lowed to pack ’em a-tall.” 

“You don’t? Well, just try drawing if you want 
to find out. Go on and draw. Your hand’s right 
over the hilt.” 

Dorcy’s backward creeping hand jerked forward 
into his lap. Corveau gave him a contemptuous 
smile. 

“Going to be good, are you? Now, how about 
Lort?” 

“ I can’t, Sid. I dassn’t side you ag’in’ him. He’d 
skin me alive. He jumped me ’bout that flask I 

slipped you. Tried to make out I was — was-” 

“What?” 

“ Why, that I was trying to hitch up with you on 
the bootleg game.” 

“Don’t lie, Gig. Come through. Maybe I’m 
wise to more than you think. How about using his 
truck for running the moonshine ? ” 

Dorcy put up a hand to his scraggy throat. He 
swallowed hard. 

“L-Lord, Sid! If you tell him I told—” 

“ I’ll keep it under my hat about you.” 

The promise only partly eased the storekeeper’s 
dismay. He gulped and hesitated. 

“They—it’s loaded after the truck, after it 
leaves his place.” 

“Then he doesn’t make the stuff there?” 




80 


The Two-Gun Man 


“ Course not! ” Dorcy’s frightened eyes squinted 
almost shut. “Why, you sure don’t figger he makes 
it!” 

Corveau leaned forward, the white rims showing 
under his irises. 

“ Come through. No lies.” 

“But—idee you thinking it could ’a’ been him, 
Sid.” The man licked his dry lips. “Why, y’know 
he’s dep’ty sheriff. Course he ain’t got nothing to 
do with it. It’s just them putting one over on him. 
Savvey? Fooling him by slipping it onto his truck 
after it leaves the ranch. Mighty slick, huh? No- 
body’d ever look for the stuff on the dep’ty sheriff’s 
truck.” 

“Know all about it, do you?” 

“Yeh—-no, on’y a little bit. They just use me 
as a sort of sub-station. The — ” Dorcy cursed 
virulently. “All I get is the drippings.” 

“Mint of money in it, eh?” 

“Mint! It’s a gold — uh. Leastways, I figger 
they get more out of it than me.” 

“Where’s the still?” 

Again Dorcy’s hand went to his throat. His eyes 
glared wide with fear. Sweat glistened on his bony 
face. 

^“For God’s sake, Sid, don’t ask me! They’d 
skin me alive — they sure would! It ain’t no joke. 
I seen what happened to one unlucky cuss they 



Calves and Coyotes 


81 


figgered was trying to double-cross ’em. What they 
done to him was a plenty. If you don’t believe me, 
go ahead and shoot. I’d sooner die right off, sudden. 
I can’t help it, I can’t blab on ’em.” 

The man was telling the truth, no doubt of it. 
He had been utterly cowed by one or more of his 
bootleg associates. Corveau glanced down the val¬ 
ley and saw an approaching car. 

“Here comes our friend the sheriff. We’ve got 
to hitch up pronto. You say the gang is using you 
for a pack burro and feeding you straw. What 
d’you say we make a try for the oats?” 

“Y’mean — high-jack ’em?” The bleary eyes 
bulged. “ But you’re with Jordan.” 

“No. I’m playing my own hand. Where’s the 
stuff loaded? Here?” 

“Up above. ’Tain’t safe here no more — not 
since Jordan and his girl got to scooting round and 
dropping in on folks. But I’ve gone and leaked 
too much a’ready. I ain’t going to risk double¬ 
crossing him” 

“Who?” 

“Them, I mean, and the — the boss of the gang. 
He’s a holy terror.” 

“Shut up and listen,” said Corveau. “You’re 
going to be my side-kick on this. But no risk to you. 
If it works, you’ll come out on top the heap. Here’s 
my plan — First, though, how about a thirty-eight 



82 


The Two-Gun Man 


that nobody can swear is yours ? ” 

Dorcy jerked his thumb towards the door and 
led the way inside. Two minutes later the flivver 
came rattling up with Jordan. Before he could get 
out Corveau stepped from the store, munching a 
stick of candy. He offered the bag to Jordan. 

The portly sheriff waved it aside and peered sus¬ 
piciously into the gloomy building. 

“Where’s that man Dorcy?” 

“Want some gas? Hi, Gig! Mr. Jordan-” 

“Wait. I have enough.You must 

have raced.” 

“Old bronc was sure feeling his oats. You said, 
first road past here?” 

“ No, that leads to the left, to Mr. Lort’s ranch — 
Stack Falls. Drake’s place is up the main road, east 
side.” 

The broncho had worked over to the trough and 
watered himself. He jogged after the car with his 
thoughtful-eyed rider. Gig Dorcy was an uncertain 
factor in the game, though not an unknown one. 
Corveau’s knowledge of the lank man’s traits and 
character, or lack of character, was what made him 
certain of the other’s uncertainty. He had counted 
upon scaring the coward into loyal support. But 
evidently the leader of the gang had already broken 
what little nerve Dorcy had once possessed. 

As Corveau thought over the possibilities, his 




Calves and Coyotes 


83 


brown-black eyes glowed with delight. His fingers 
toyed with the slight bulge in the front of his scarlet 
sash-girdle. 

The bunch of calves tallied only a few over 
twenty. But Corveau was doubly glad when he saw 
Kate waiting at the creek crossing. On beyond the 
bridge there were no fences on either side of the* 
road. Good cowpony as was his broncho, he could 
not have raced from side to side fast enough to keep 
the calves from bolting off into the timber. 

Kate, on her nimble pinto, made all the difference 
in the world. She soon showed she could flank one 
side of the drove as well as he did the other. With 
her father bringing up the rear in the flivver, the 
calves were kept to the road with no more than a 
reasonable amount of lively riding. 

Part way down into the other valley some of the 
calves made a dash for the rough fork road that 
Kate said led up to Stack Falls Canon. But a 
little farther on, well-stretched wire fences closed 
in to guard each side of the down-valley road. 

After this, most of the time, Corveau was able to 
jog along beside Kate and enjoy her company. She 
listened with close interest to his accounts of range 
riding on the Arizona deserts. But she asked no 
prying questions. 

They were near the state highway when a truck 
rumbled upon them from behind and tooted to pass. 



84 


The Two-Gun Man 


Jordan swung the car into the right hand ditch, and 
Kate helped Corveau press the calves over to the 
same side. 

“ It’s Bullen’s truck,” she said. “He certainly 
has a wonderful crop this year.” 

“Wet as well as green,” replied Corveau, lightly. 
“ Must take a big bunch of hands to milk so many 
cows.” 

“ Not as many as you think. Three expert Swede 
dairymen he sent for from Wisconsin do all that. 
They use mechanical milkers, run with a gasoline 
engine.” 

“ He sure is a get-rich-quicker, Miss Kate. Hope 
you’ll be happy.” 

Kate looked off west at the snow peaks. 

“If we do our duty, Sidney, we have at least a 

chance of being happy.Anyway, life isn’t 

given us to be happy but to do what is right.” 

The truck came chugging alongside them. Cor¬ 
veau waved a gay hand to the driver, a sullen-eyed 
man in cowboy rig. 

“ ’Lo, Lefty. How’d you manage to sneak back 
from Mexico without being strung up at the Border? 
I see you’re wearing a new kind of hoss — one those 
fiery spirited outlaws. Now, now, buddy; don’t trot 
past so cold-like to your fond-loving old side-kick. 
I’ve been told I’m looking for you and Al. Maybe 
I will be if you shy me like this.” 



Calves and Coyotes 


85 


Lefty put on speed and flung a mocking reply over 
his shoulder: 

“Aw, go chase yourself. Try to pull anything 
funny on me, you’ll get what’s coming to you.” 

Corveau seemed to find something very amusing 
about this. He told comic stories to Kate all the 
rest of the way home. 



CHAPTER IX 


THE DOUBLE-CROSS 

AFTER breakfast the next morning, while Kate 
JljL made sandwiches for his midday lunch, Cor- 
veau cleared the table. He filled the china sugar- 
bowl and carefully put on the cover. When he rode 
up over the hill back of the barn he had his own 
horse in lead. 

For two full hours he worked hard, throwing 
steers to the north and cows and calves south. Then, 
shifting saddle and bridle to his own horse, he 
loped off across country. Occasionally wire fences 
had to be lowered for the broncho to pass, and 
nailed up again. But the high ridge route cut off two 
miles or more to where he struck the Col dwell road, 
just below the junction of the Stack Falls Canon 
fork. 

At the junction his quick eye noted the tire tracks 
of a car that had come down from the direction of 
Coldwell and gone up towards the canon, or the re¬ 
verse. He swung off to study the size and pattern 
of the treads. They told him that the car had gone 
towards Coldwell, and they told him much more. 

His eyes were very bright and alert as he jogged 
up the long hill. Though he sat his horse like a 
86 


The Double-Cross 


87 


bundle of rags, his glances, under the shadow of the 
broad hat brim, kept darting from side to side and 
forward along the road. The fresh tire tracks ran 
on up the hill, over the stony summit, and on down 
the first of the two long steep pitches. 

But near the foot of the heavy grade the tracks 
turned off sharply into the pines on the left. With¬ 
out lifting his down-sagged head, Corveau shot a 
searching look in among the trees. No sign of any 
car there. Yet nowhere on beyond did the tracks 
come back into the road. 

He loped along the level stretch and came to the 
second steep pitch. Half way down its long descent 
he dismounted and tied his horse behind a clump of 
young spruces. He seated himself on a stone at 
the edge of the road and waited, listening and think¬ 
ing. 

S<? Dorcy had double-crossed him. Those tire 
marks gave almost certain proof of it. Well, he 
had no license to be surprised. The man’s fear of 
being shot had not been strong enough to overcome 
his fear of torture. He was a weak sister, not worth 
a second thought. 

The point now was how to meet the altered situa¬ 
tion. Easy enough to slide out of the trap by riding 
off south aslant the mountain — easy, and yet im¬ 
possible. For it would mean quitting — throwing up 
the game. Also it would mean missing the fun of 



88 


The Two-Gun Man 


teetering on the edge of destruction. 

A familiar chug down the road spurred him to 
action. He hastened to lead his horse in through the 
spruces to a grassy opening. There he stripped off 
the bridle and made it fast to the saddle. He was 
back beside the road, screened by a young spruce, 
when the truck came laboring up around a turn. 

The lank figure beside the driver was unmistak¬ 
able. Dorcy had come as planned. The gall of him, 
after tipping off the play! No, not gall. He must 
have been forced. He looked as if scared stiff. 
Someone had invited him to come—urgently. 

When the truck was close, Corveau stepped out 
into the road. His lips were quirked in a genial 
smile. His hand waved a friendly salute. 

“Howdy, pards.” 

But Dorcy’s hands were already jerking skywards. 
He stammered, to the accompaniment of on-crashing 
brakes: 

“D-d-d-don’t shoot, Sid!” 

Lefty had delayed only for the two seconds nec¬ 
essary to shut off the engine and slam on the brakes. 
Up flung his hands beside Dorcy’s. 

“I surrender!” he grunted. “You can take it 
and go clean plumb to-” 

“Whoa, whoa, mulie!” soothed Corveau. 
“What’s eating you pair of crop-eared burros? 
Looks like you’ve gone loco. You can’t reach the 




The Double-Gross 


89 


moon up that way. Put ’em down.” 

“ Not by a little bit,” muttered Lefty. “ You just 
want the ’scuse to plug me. Guess I know when I’m 
being high-jacked.” 

“High-jacked?” Corveau’s smiling face took pn 
a look of mild surprise. “Why, dearie, you can’t, 
you really can’t, be doing such a naughty bad thing 
as bootlegging? How shocking!” 

“Aw, hell. Le’s get it over with,” growled Lefty. 

He started to step down the side of the truck. 

“No, indeed, keep your seat,” begged Corveau. 
“ I wouldn’t think of disturbing you.” 

Lefty slunk back. Corveau smiled at the rigid 
Dorcy. 

“ You sure are a pair of locoed burros, Gig. Here 
I am with my horse loose, wanting a lift to town, 
and you act as if I was a bold bad bandit, ’stead of 
your old-time side-kick. Won’t you please be ac¬ 
commodating, Gig, and get down, so’s I can ride 
with Lefty?” 

“ Ride with him? But — but it was fixed for you 


“Please, please be good!” implored Corveau. 
“Lefty’s just dying to drive his fiery steed to town. 
I wouldn’t think of hogging him out of the pleas¬ 
ure— simply couldn’t. It’s so full of high spirits 
it might kick me off.” 

A swift jerk of Corveau’s hand to the front of his 





90 


The Two-Gun Man 


scarlet girdle froze stiff Lefty’s panic-stricken im¬ 
pulse to bolt. 

‘‘That’s it, driver. Hang onto your wheel — 
Now, Gig, you know you don’t want to go to town 
today. You’ve changed your mind. You’re going 
to insist on my taking your seat while you trot 
home .... and the quicker you trot, the less 
apt you are to fall by the wayside.” 

Dorcy was already down in the road. He ran 
for it, his hznds still overhead. Corveau swung up 
into the vacant seat. 

“Just a minute before we roll on, Lefty. What 
d’you say we have a sniff of the real stuff? No, 
don’t stop to jaw, and please be careful how you 
handle your hands. I want to save you to do some 
driving. Now, take off the lid.” 

The man sullenly untied and shoved back the 
heavy tarpaulin cover of the load. He opened one 
of the many milk cans in the midst of the crates of 
lettuce, plunged his dirty hand down, into the cream, 
and brought up a long metal cylinder. Its capacity 
was at least three gallons. Using both hands, he 
raised it straight up, so that the cream would drip 
into the milk can. 

Corveau unscrewed the small cap on the cone- 
shaped top, above the handles of the cylinder. He 
smelled the contents, touched his tongue to the inside 
of the cap, and screwed the cap on again. At a 





The Double-Cross 


91 


sign from him, Lefty lowered the cylinder back into 
the can and returned to the driver’s seat. 

The lettuce crates were rather flimsy. Corveau 
jerked the top slats off the two inner front ones and 
started to tramp down the lettuce heads. His foot 
hit something hard. From the center of each crate 
he dragged a two-gallon jug. Both sailed over into 
the clump of young spruce. 

The trampled lettuce made a cozy soft bed. Cor¬ 
veau smoothed the canvas above him and pulled 
the corner rope taut through its tying ring. The 
front edge came down against Lefty’s back. Be¬ 
tween it and the top of the seat Corveau thrust some¬ 
thing small and round against the man’s spine. He 
spoke with cheerful eagerness: 

“ Feel that, old dear? Listen. We’re apt to meet 
some rough unrefined persons up the road. I’m 
going to tell you how you’d better talk to ’em — and 
all signs barred, buddy. I’ve got a peephole slit 
in the canvas. If they get nosey or rude, something 
sudden is apt to happen to your interior.” 

The small of Lefty’s back convulsively arched 
away from that hard round thing. 

“Yes, you’ve got the savvy of it, Lefty. 
Through the backbone and ranging up and forward 
— as the coroner’s jury will word the verdict.” 

“Lemme — lemme go, Sid! I ain’t siding him,, 
only driving truck-” 




92 


The Two-Gun Man 


“No, not siding him, buddy. You’re siding me. 
Sure you are. You’re going to see your fond old 
side-kick safe past the rude, rough, unrefined per¬ 
sons. Le’s start on right now. We don’t want to 
keep ’em waiting for our happy s’prise. While 
merrily we roll along to liberty or death, I’ll tell you 
the soft answers that’ll turn away their wrath.” 

Lefty cursed — and obeyed. He knew Corvoau. 
He knew how those mild brown-black eyes were 
gleaming with joyous excitement. Also he knew the 
deadly quickness of Corveau’s trigger finger. 

The truck chugged up the grade, swerving from 
side to side under the unsteady hand of the steerer. 
Even where the road ran through the cool shade of 
pines, Lefty frequently wiped his shirtsleeve across 
his forehead. When at last the truck lumbered 
along the level break to the foot of the second hard 
climb, the sweat oozed all over his face. 

A few yards below the point where the tire marks 
turned off the road, what little was left of the man’s 
nerve snapped under the strain. He jammed on the 
brakes and flung up his hands. 

“Hi! It’s me!” he howled. “Me —Lefty! 
Don’t-” 

His backward pushed hat flopped off to the zipp 
of a rifle bullet. Another bullet scorched the side of 
his neck. With the reports of the shots came loud 
yells: 




The Double-Gross 


93 


u Throw up, you bootlegger! Surrender! ” 

From behind trees and bushes a short distance up 
the road sprang four men — Lort and a cross-eyed 
man and two others. All carried rifles thrust for¬ 
ward ready to fire. 

Lefty lowered a hand to feel his neck. He bleated 
in tremulous indignation: 

“It’s me, I tell you — me! You gone deef and 
blind? What you think you’re doing? Go and part 
my hair thataway and scratch my neck! ” 

The rifle muzzles dropped. Lort came striding 
ahead of the others. He roared like a hungry 
grizzly that has missed his leap at a calf: 

“ Where’s that sucker? ” 

“What sucker? I ain’t seen none — ’cept me.” 

“Corveau? You must have seen him. He rode 
past here, just as Dorcy said he would.” 

Lefty’s momentary hesitation ended with a for¬ 
ward jerk of his mid-body. 

“Ugh! Rode past here, you say? Reckon he’s 
been too slick for us. Like as not, he figgered on 
Gig crossing him.” 

“Likely, bah — when he himself let Dorcy in on 
the deal. Cough up. You’re the one who’s trying 
to double-cross.” 

“ Me? — double-cross the boss! Al, you tell him 
’bout Sid.” 

“We ain’t got no cause to ride Lefty, Mr. Lort,’* 



94 


The Two-Gun Man 


said cross-eyed Al. “He’s on the square. Sid sure 
is a slick one. Never knew nobody to put nothing 
over on him ’cept when he was soused.” 

“ I’m not asking how slick is the young devil. I’m 
asking what happened when he met the truck. 
Where’s Dorcy?” 

Again Lefty hesitated, and again his body gave 
a convulsive jerk down near the belt line. 

“It’s — it’s all fell through, Mr. Lort—that 
whole plan. Mebbe he spotted your tire tracks and 
got wise. He was a mighty good tracker — ’most as 
good as a Injin. You tell the boss, Al.” 

“Dammit!” cried AL “That’s it—them tire 
tracks. We should’ve ought to’ve knowed better. 
Out the canon road; up here; twist into the trees. 
Just like Sid to spot them tracks. He slides by the 
bunch of us, in’cent as a calf, and hits off ’cross the 
hills. Mebbe’s half way back to Jordan’s a’ready.” 

Convinced at last, Lort was only the more en¬ 
raged. He roared at Lefty: 

“ I asked, where’s Dorcy?” 

“Yessir—yes, boss. I heard you. He — Gig — 
he come far’s the place they — he and Sid — ’greed 
on. Plan falling through, he legs it back for home.” 

“He did?” 

“Sure. Uh — d’you want I should shove the — 
eream and lettuce along, to catch the down train?” 

“Hit out! Beat it! You fellows, run the car 



The Double-Cross 


95 


out. We’ll trail that slick two-gun kid.” 

“ Hey, Lefty,” shouted A1 above the roar of the 
truck engine. “ You’re forgetting your hat.” 

Lefty clashed in the clutch. His answer came 
over his shoulder as the truck rolled upgrade past 
Lort: 

“You take it. Bullet hole-—might set ’em talk¬ 
ing.” 

Up around the first turn he cocked his head down 
to listen, and promptly gave the engine more gas. 
The truck began to climb like a spurred horse. Twist 
after twist of the steep uprise fell away below it. 

At last the extra bang and clatter told of the 
rocky summit. The truck body leveled — dipped at 
the front end. From under the tarpaulin came a 
cheery command: 

“ Zip’s the word, buddy. Step on ’er! ” 

The gears crashed into high. Down the long 
snake of winding road the truck swooped at top 
speed. 



CHAPTER X 


HIGH JACK 


T HE big maroon car rolled towards Coldwell. 

In places Lort had to drive slow to make sure 
that the trail of Corveau’s horse had not left the 
road. Quite a little precious time slipped past be¬ 
fore they came to where the truck had stopped. 

The signs were easy enough to read, and yet they 
were puzzling. Why had Dorcy left on a run? 
Why had Corveau hung around before going off 
through the forest? 

The broken twig of a spruce in the midst of the 
clump caught the hard-staring gaze of Lort. At a 
muttered command from him, the three men drew 
their pistols and wormed their way into the dense 
mass of evergreens. Lort stepped around behind 
the trunk of a pine and covered the far side of the 
clump with his big automatic. 

From the clump came grunts of surprise, but no 
routed lier-in-wait. Out came the three searchers, 
scratched and cursing. A1 had a big jug in each 
hand. 

“ What d’you know ’bout that? ” he cried. “ Both 
of ’em cached plumb in the middle of it and both 
full of the reg’lar stuff. Can’t make head ner tail 

96 


High Jack 


97 


of it, less Gig sneaked ’em out from under Lefty’s 
nose when they was waiting for Sid.” 

Lort’s gray-green eyes glinted. 

“ Chuck ’em in the car. I’ll nail Dorcy first; then 
Lefty. But we’ve got to make sure Corveau really 
made his getaway. He may have cut around to join 
Dorcy. Track him.” 

A1 led his companions almost at a run along the 
clearly marked hoof prints of the horse. One of the 
men soon caught sight of the bridleless animal graz¬ 
ing in the open glade. He ran back to fetch a reata 
from the car. No sooner had the broncho been 
roped than the thought flashed upon the men that 
Corveau might be lying in one of the spruce clumps. 
They scattered and ran to the car. 

Lort sneered at their scare and jumped to his own 
conclusions regarding the bridleless horse. 

“ Corveau’s not around here. It’s what I said. 
He circled to join Dorcy and cook up a new deal. 
His horse leads. Pile in.” 

They rolled quickly on down grade, picking up 
Dorcy’s trail wherever the road was soft with sand 
or dust. After a time the footprints showed less 
far apart. Dorcy had slowed to a jog. But no 
traces of another man’s footprints. 

Beyond the bridge of the creek crossing the runner 
had eased to a walk. Lort put on speed. The 
broncho was forced into a dead run. But he did not 



98 


The Two-Gun Man 


have to race far. A short distance up the creek they 
overhauled the shambling Dorcy. 

The deputy hurled out at him like a charging bull. 
He shook his fist in the face of the cowering man. 

“ Where’s Corveau ? Cough up! ” 

Dorcy’s mouth gaped in amazement. 

“ Why — why—ain’t you got him? ” 

“Got him!” 

“ Sure. I done my share. Only he wouldn’t let 
Lefty get off. Made him drive for him. Rode off 
with him and-” 

“You double-crossing liar! ” 

“Na-na-na— don’t! don’t, Mr. Lort! I ain’t 

ly-” 

Lort’s fist closed on the storekeeper’s scrawny 
neck. He began to kick him. At every blow of the 
heavy boot Dorcy yelled and writhed and begged 
for mercy. Lort kicked higher. The victim 
screamed, broke from the iron grip on his throat, 
and collapsed in a shuddering, gasping heap. 

“ Hold on, boss,” protested Al, as Lort stepped 
around to kick at Dorcy’s face. “ Mebbe he wasn’t 
lying.” 

“Not lying? When he says Corveau met them 
and rode off with Lefty!” 

The boot landed in Dorcy’s face with stunning 
violence. 

“Aw, let up,” urged the cross-eyed man. “ I tell 






High Jack 


99 


you he ain’t got nerve enough to hold out on you. 
Didn’t he put you next to Sid’s high-jack trick?” 

“Yes — after Jordan told me the pair had got 
their heads together. I promised the dirty double- 
crosser then what he’s getting now, if he didn’t cough 
up. I’ll bust in his slats and-” 

u Lay off! ” warned Al. “ Here comes a car.” 

The deputy paused to stare at the dusty limousine 
that came purring swiftly up the easy grade. It 
slowed and stopped opposite the close group of men. 
An elderly lady thrust her head out of the window, 
below the New York pennant. She raised a gold- 
mounted lorgnette to peer at the writhing, moaning 
storekeeper. 

“Why, my good fellows! How shocking! You 
have run over the unfortunate man!” 

“ No, ma’am,” said Al. “ It’s only his bronc here 
up and bucked him off — spilled him.” 

“Ah, indeed? How very regrettable!” 

“Yes’um. Say, you met a truck over the hill, 
didn’t you?” 

“ Indeed, yes! The driver should be apprehended 
for speeding. Romaine was forced to swerve up on 
the bank. The shock jarred me dreadfully.” 

Al stepped towards the stiffly erect, smartly uni¬ 
formed chauffeur. 

“ Say, Frenchy, was they two fellers on that there 
truck?” 




100 


The Two-Gun Man 


Up shot two gloved fingers. 

“ Oui — oui, m } seur —ze chauffeur an’ ze von vot 
laugh.” 

Lort’s jaw dropped — then snapped shut. He 
touched his hat to the lady and showed his badge. 

“ Madam, I’m deputy sheriff of this county. 
We’re after that pair of bootleggers. Got to rush. 
Can I ask you to haul this fellow the three miles 
up to Coldwell? That’s his store.” 

“ I shall be pleased, if you will be so kind as to 
arrest that.truck driver for speeding.” 

The deputy jerked his thumb at his men and 
jumped to reverse his car. A1 hastened to tie Cor- 
veau’s broncho to the rear of the limousine. The 
other men no less hurriedly dumped the half-uncon¬ 
scious Dorcy in beside the unbending Romaine. 

All three ran to pile on the running board of the 
maroon car. It tore off down the road, with them 
scrambling in over the doors. Before they had 
jostled into their seats the fence posts alongside were 
blurring. 

At the foot of the down grade the big car roared 
across the bridge and hit the steep rise at fifty miles 
an hour. Lort did not shift gears. He stepped on 
the accelerator. The car whizzed and jumped up 
the steep twists at crazy speed. It gained the easy 
stretch and hit the bumps in its dash for the second 
climb. Again it went bouncing and twisting skyward. 



High Jack 


101 


Not until close to the top did it falter and slacken 
like an over-strained monster. Yet still Lort did not 
shift gears. He kept in high. The mountain was 
beginning to round. His car labored on upwards, 
with cut-out wide open. It began to bang on the 
rocks of the summit. 

A1 uttered a yell. One of the jugs of bootleg had 
hopped onto his toe. He heaved both jugs over 
into ravines. Lort somehow got the car across the 
crest without a smash-up. He sent it whizzing down 
the smooth descent of Elk Valley. It was the 
speediest car in the county. The truck was only a 
truck. He felt certain of overhauling it somewhere 
short of Elk. 

To Corveau also this had seemed not improbable. 
For the last five minutes he had been looking to see 
the maroon car swoop around the curves to pounce 
upon the truck. Not but what Lefty was doing his 
level best. The wildly jolted milk cans clashed 
merrily to the pound and roar of the clumsy racer. 

At the skidding turn into the state highway the 
cap of the radiator blew off. A geyser of steam and 
boiling water spouted high. Corveau whooped: 

“Ye-owl Snorting firewater! Stay with him, 
Lefty! Jab him! jab him!” 

Lefty, wild-eyed and gray-faced, obeyed. The 
truck rushed along the broad smooth highway, with 
a welcome cessation of banging jolts. The lone re- 



102 


The Two-Gun Man 


maining mile to town melted fast under the whirling 
wheels. Ahead appeared the Jordan ranch house. 
The high gate came gliding to meet them. 

A backward glance showed Corveau the swirl of 
dust at an outcurve two miles up the valley. He 
cried into Lefty’s lobeless ear: 

“Yank your bit and let’er holler. S’lute your 
sheriff.” 

The truck slowed down, to the blare of its horn. 

Jordan, dozing on the side porch, sat up to stare. 
Kate darted from the house in her kitchen apron. 
The truck horn, taken over by Corveau, was blatting 
distressfully. Kate ran down the drive. Her father 
followed at a dignified walk. 

By the time Kate reached the gate the truck had 
come to a stop close outside, and Lefty was pushing 
back the front of the tarpaulin. Kate stared from 
the hissing geyser of the radiator to the hatless 
driver and from him to his companion. 

“Why, Sidney! How did you come here? 
What’s the matter? I thought you were up cutting 
out the steers.” 

“No; steering the steerer—my old, fond side- 
kick Lefty. We’ve brought you and your pa a happy 
surprise. Get a move on you, Lefty. Dig out one 
your cute little nesteggs and show the lady.” 

Lefty stared wildly back along the highway and 
hesitated. Something unseen by Kate prodded him 



High Jack 


103 


in the ribs. He flinched and tore at the slats of a 
lettuce crate. 

“Stop,” ordered Kate. “You’ll spoil Mr. Lort’s 
lettuce— Oh! there’s a crate — two crates — all 
mashed down! Whatever could have-” 

Quickened by another prod, Lefty yanked a two- 
gallon jug from the heart of the third crate. 

“You might be polite and offer the lady a sniff,” 
suggested Corveau. 

With a snarl, Lefty wrenched out the cork and 
held the jug down over the side of the truck. Kate 
wonderingly grasped hold. Her father quickened 
his step to pass the gate. 

“ What’s this ? Bullen’s truck! Corveau! What 
are you doing here, away from your work?” 

“ Just helping Lefty deliver you a little brown jug, 
sheriff — compliments of Mr. Lort.” 

“Jug?” 

Kate lowered it from her wrinkling nose. 

“Paugh! Nasty smell! It’s bootleg whiskey, 
father.” 

Jordan saw a great light. 

“ So you’re in with that gang, after all, Corveau 
— you and Lefty!” 

“ Father! Don’t be ridiculous! How can Sidney 
and his friend be with the bootleggers when they’ve 
brought this to us?” 

Up the highway Corveau saw a dark dot, haloed 




104 


The Two-Gun Man 


by a cloud of dust. Coming at something over 
seventy miles an hour, the dot burgeoned swiftly into 
a maroon car. Corveau vaulted down over the side 
of the truck. With him he brought Lefty’s auto¬ 
matic. 

“ Better shy clear, Miss Kate,” he urged. “ Looks 
kind of like Bull’s on a rampage. Hell’s apt to pop 
loose in two shakes.” 

Instead of retreating, the girl came to him and 
held out her hand. 

“The pistol, Sidney. Give it to me.” 

He hesitated only a moment. 

“AM right. You’re the doctor. I’m your 
prisoner.” 

Smiling and bright-eyed, he leaned jauntily against 
the side of the truck, both thumbs hopked in the 
front of his scarlet girdle. The maroon car screeched 
to a stop just behind the head of the truck. For 
a moment all eyes were turned that way. Corveau 
made a swift shift of his right hand to one of the 
lettuce crates jammed against the side of the truck. 

There followed a few seconds of heart-stopping 
suspense. Then the attackers jumped into view — 
two at the front of the truck, two around the tail- 
board. All four held their automatics raised to lire. 
But no trigger twitched. Kate had pressed in close 
against Corveau. 

“The sneak!” shouted Lort. “Hide behind a 




High Jack 


105 


girl! Get away from him, Kate.” 

“ Wait, Bullen. Put down your pistols. I’ve dis¬ 
armed him.” < 

“No, she hain’t,” warned Lefty. “That’s my 
gun. He’s got one in his belt.” 

Corveau smiled. 

“ If that’s so, Miss Kate, you’d better frisk me, 
or have your pa do it. Come on, sheriff. Do your 
duty. Frisk the bad desperado of all his hardware.” 

Jordan promptly accepted the invitation. He 
might be fat and easy-going; he might even be 
afraid. But he was ready to do his duty as sheriff. 
Corveau put up his other hand against the side of 
the truck. 

The sheriff felt under the prisoner’s armpits, in 
his hip pockets, in his sash belt. At the front of 
the belt was a hard object. The fat jowl tensed; the 
friendly smile flicked out of the small blue eyes. 
From the folds of the scarlet girdle the sheriff drew 
his find. He held it up, and stood gaping. It was a 
span-long piece of quarter-inch galvanized iron pipe. 

Through the dead silence murmured Corveau’s 
soft raillery: 

“Found it out in the barn, Miss Kate. But the 
end feels just like the nose of a forty-five. What 
say, Lefty?” 

“He’s faking!” cried the victim. “Look in his 
boots.” 



106 


The Two-Gun Man 


Without moving hands or body, Corveau lifted 
first one foot, then the other, for Jordan to feel. 

“ Bootleg —without a kick in it. Whole lot dif¬ 
ferent from the esteemed Mr. Lort’s kind. Miss 
Kate.” 

He looked at the wrathful deputy, mirth devils 
dancing in his brown-black eyes. 

“ Skirt sneak! ” growled Lort. 

“Think so?” taunted Corveau. “Line up with 
A1 and Lefty, and ask her to loan me her pa’s gun. 
I’ll take on all three of you. Loan me two guns, 
and I’ll stand up to all five of you.” 

“Ex-cuse me!” A1 made hasty and fervent re¬ 
quest. “ I ain’t backing even no royal flush ag’in’ a 
pair of sixes in his hands. Don’t you take no chance, 
Mr. Lort.” 

The deputy pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Kate 
felt Corveau stiffen. 

“No,” she said. “He is my prisoner, Bullen. 
Remember your promise. You shall not touch him 
until I know you have good cause.” 

Lort neither rushed nor gave the signal to his 
men. Corveau easily could have snatched the pistol 
held by the girl. 

“Look for yourself, Kate,” the deputy argued. 
“You must have seen that it is my truck. He stole 
it — highway robbery. He made Lefty run off with 
it-— 




High Jack 


107 


“At the point of a piece of plumbing,” put in Cor- 
veau. “ Robbery with a deadly weapon. Sure was 
a joy-ride. I’ll leave it to Lefty if it wasn’t. Little 
brown jug jigging in every crate, and every can of 
cream ’most bubbling over with high spirits. You’ve 
heard of moonshine on the water, Miss Kate. But 
did you ever hear of bootleg in the cream?” 

“Bootleg — moonshine?” questioned the per¬ 
plexed Jordan. “ Why, Bullen says it is his truck.” 

“Yes, sir. The truth, the whole truth, and noth¬ 
ing but the truth. His truck, his lettuce, his cream, 
his — etcetera. Seems to me I’ve heard you can’t 
send a man up for high-jacking. Bootleg isn’t legal 

property. Besides, I only-” 

“ That’s enough from you,” broke in Lort. “ You 
can tell it all to Judge Drake. Come, Kate; you 
and your dad. I won’t touch the fellow. Get into 
my car with him. My men will look to the truck.” 

“ Sure they will,” agreed Corveau. “ They’ll spill 
the evidence and present Lefty with his getaway. 
Awful crime I’ve committed, Miss Kate — catching 
the deputy sheriff’s truck full of hooch. With malice 
aforethought, too. You’ll find a note I left in the 
sugarbowl this morning. It says, ‘ I hope to fetch 
you a nice piece of bootleg.’ ” 

Kate gave judgment: 

“ The evidence is on your truck, Bullen. Of 
course you can explain that it’s not your fault. But 




108 


The Two-Gun Man 


Sidney brought it to father and me. We will have 
him bring it to the hall. You go on. That will 
save any chance of trouble.” 

“But-” 

“ Go at once, please. Remember your promise.” 

Lort jammed his pistol into its holster and jerked 
his hand at his men. As Lefty scrambled down over 
the truck seat Corveau flung a last taunt: 

“Watch out, or that southpaw bootlegger’ll get 
away from you. He’s not heeled—but what’s that 
to a desperate desperado with only four armed 
guards to keep him from making his getaway?” 

The car roared and shot off down the road. 


9 





CHAPTER XI 


A DRAW 

K ATE handed Lefty’s pistol to her father. 

“ Hold it, please. I’ll be back in a minute.” 
She darted up the drive. Jordan momentarily al¬ 
lowed his gaze to follow her. From its resting 
place against the crate of lettuce Corveau’s right 
hand jerked down. With it came a small automatic 
pistol. At the same time Corveau turned his back 
to Jordan. The pistol slipped into the front of his 
girdle as he bent to grasp the jug of whiskey with 
his left hand. 

“ Thought I’d best put this aboard with the other 
evidence, sheriff,” he said. “Want to sample it 
first? Or maybe you’d like me to cache it for you in 
the drive culvert.” 

“Me? That filth? I used to take a toddy of 
the real old stuff now and then. But even good 
whiskey is now against the law and constitution. For 
another thing, I’m sheriff of this county. What’s 
your game? Trying to bribe me to let you skip out, 
are you?” 

Jordan, always slow to wrath, had worked up 
from indignation to hot anger. Corveau grinned as 
he swung the jug upon the truck. 


110 


The Two-Gun Man 


“I caw, pa. Reckon you’re your daughter’s dad, 
'’spite of evil associations.” 

He w r ent to throw open the burning hot hood of 
the engine. The small amount of water left in the 
radiator was still spluttering. While he oiled the 
cups, Kate came with a pail of spring water. That 
quieted the seething geyser past danger of another 
gush. 

Kate took the seat beside her prisoner. Her 
father stood up on the mashed crates behind them. 
Neither asked any questions. The place for ex¬ 
planations was in court. 

They found the maroon car standing empty before 
the town hall. Corveau gave way to momentary 
seriousness. 

“Mr. Jordan, whatever is proven about this deal, 
there are members of the bootleg gang near enough 
to get away with your evidence if you give them 
half a chance.” 

Jordan promptly called four officials from the hall 
and deputized them to guard the truck. At Cor- 
veau’s suggestion, Kate had him lug in the exposed 
jug of whiskey. 

They found the courtroom crowded. A divorce 
case was being tried. All seats had been taken be¬ 
fore the arrival of Lort and his men. They stood 
grouped about Lefty, near the desk of the court 
bailiff. Coming in at the attorneys’ door, Kate had 





A Draw 


111 


to tug at Lort’s arm to make a passage for herself 
and her companions. 

Sight of the girl stirred the little judge out of his 
half doze. Sight of the jug carried by Corveau fired 
him to action. He grabbed his carpenter-hammer 
gavel and brought it down on its board with a bang. 

“ That’s enough, Mirandy,” he snapped at the 
tearful woman in the witness chair. “ No use telling 
me Jed blessed you with a jawing and slapped you 
when you sassed him back. I’d ’a’ done the same 
after eating your fried vittles day in and day out. 
It’s enough to give an ostrich dyspepsy.” 

The woman’s lawyer rose to make an objection, 
and was promptly quashed. 

“You set, Tommie. The court’s talking. Jed, 
you stand up here ’longside your missus.” 

A gaunt-faced farmer rose from the other side of 
the attorneys’ table and shuffled reluctantly around 
to the witness. 

“ Heh. Look at her, Jed. Y’ought to be kicked, 
heh — striking your pore weak wife that loves you 
like a dying dog. And you, Mirandy, you ought to 
be spanked, feeding him on such vittles. You can 
cook right smart. You know you can. Many’s the 
licking good dinner I’ve et at your table. I want 
you-’ 

The lawyers for both plaintiff and defendant were 
on their feet. Bang went the hammer. 




112 


The Two-Gun Man 


“ Set! Jed and Mirandy, the court’s judgment is, 
you go home together, and Mirandy resumes cook¬ 
ing her old-time boiled dinners, and no fried stuff 
more’n once a day. Case is postponed two weeks for 
Jed to get over his dyspepsy. Mirandy’ll come in 
and report she’s cooking according to the court’s 
orders and her home ain’t going to be busted after 
’leven years staying hitched.” 

Jed owned up like a man: 

“Uncle Drake, you’re dead right. I ought to be 
kicked. It’s all my fault. I made her fry, ’stead of 
boil. I can see now ’twas the fried grub made me 
feel mean.” 

The plaintiff clutched his arm. He started out 
with her, his sunburnt face set in a sheepish smile. 

“ Court cancels that two-week postponement. 
Case dismissed,” ordered his honor. “We-11, now, 
Katie, what’s the cat brought home this time? 
’Nother jug of vinegar?” 

Balked of sensational developments in the divorce 
case, the spectators had started to flock out. The 
judge’s question brought them to a halt. 

Lort moved forward with Kate and Jordan and 
Corveau. He caught the jug out of Corveau’s hand 
and swung it up on the judicial bench. 

“Take a smell of that, judge. I’ve roped two 
of the bootleg gang and can gather in a third on 
suspicion, any time. This fellow Corveau and Lefty 




A Draw 


113 


there — man who’s been working for Sheriff Jordan 
and me-” 

“Just hold your hosses a bit,” interrupted Drake. 
“ Clerk, swear the whole bunch.” 

The clerk rose, ordered all to put up their right 
hands, and mumbled the oath. 

“ Now, Katie; ladies first,” said his honor. “ Tell 
it short.” 

“Yes, Uncle Drake. Sidney brought home Bul- 
len’s truck. He made the driver — that man Lefty 
— give me this jug out of a crate of lettuce. It is 
full of whiskey. Sidney says there is more in the 
milk cans. He says-”* 

“Stop. All ‘he sayses’ are barred. They’re 
hearsay evidence. Is it good whiskey or—-—” 

“Oh, no. It smells simply horrid.” 

“Bootleg, your honor,” put in Lort. “The gang 
is running it through from somewhere up in Wyom¬ 
ing. I’ve made this fellow Lefty confess.” 

“You have, heh? Got him here, I see, nigh side 
that cross-eyed puncher. Saw him at your place, 
Hank. Le’s get our testimony direct from the 
source. Well, Lefty, come through.” 

Lefty shot a furtive glance at Corveau. 

“ I ain’t got nothing to say.” 

“You have!” Lort bellowed like his nickname- 
sake. “You agreed to confess all about yourself and 
Corveau, and don’t try to slip out of it. I have 






114 


The Two-Gun Man 


three witnesses here besides myself to prove it.” 

“What if I did?” muttered the accused. “I was 
on’y talking then, so you can’t send me up for perj’ry. 
I’m swearing now, and the law won’t let you make 
me say nothing to ’crim’nate myself.” 

“ But about the others?” 

The man spat virulently. 

“ Them! The dirty double-crossers! That there 
knock-kneed Gig Dorcy, him and Sid Corveau here, 
they cooked up to plant a lot of bootleg on you, 
load your truck and then high-jack it off me and let 
on it was your moonshine. Sid he done the hold-up. 
He shot off my hat and shot me ’cross the neck, just 
missing the jug’lar. See, here’s the bullet burn. 
And he makes me drive him to town.” 

“That is part of what he confessed, your honor,” 
said Lort. “Those three men of mine heard him, 
as well as myself. Fact is, we can testify direct to 
some of it. From the first I’ve suspected this two- 
gun man Corveau, and, as your honor knows, we’ve 
all been suspicious of Dorcy. Yesterday, when Mr. 
Jordan went up to fetch those calves you sold him, 
Corveau raced ahead and had a secret talk with 
Dorcy.” 

Jordan stared. 

“How did you come to know that, Bullen?” 

“I had a trap set for Dorcy — and Corveau 
walked into it, too. A little third-degree work made 



A Draw 


115 


Dorcy own up — in part. He admitted he knew that 
Lefty was planting bootleg on my truck, at or near 
Coldwell. Corveau was another of the gang. My 
arrest of him last week showed I had them almost 
cornered. They knew the game was up. Out of 
revenge, they cooked this scheme for Lefty to again 
plant the bootleg on my truck; then have Corveau 
high-jack the truck and try to frame me for boot¬ 
legging.” 

“Revenge?” queried Drake, his shrewd gaze 
shifting from the cold green eyes of the deputy to 
the smiling face of Corveau. 

“Yes, your honor. Revenge — and something 
more. Everybody knows Miss Jordan is engaged to 
me, that I am to marry her. But this gaily two-gun 
high-jacker thinks he can win her away from me.” 

“ O-o-oh I ” Kate murmured. 

Corveau looked at her, no longer smiling. 

“ Don’t let that fash you, ma’am. It’s only one 
more lie to go with the others of the same brand. 
It’s just what’s called ‘bull con.’” 

“Try to stall, will you?” growled Lort. “I’ll 
show you up to her, good and plenty.” 

“The court’s hearing evidence, not threats,” 
snapped Drake. 

“Yes — and here’s the rest of it, your — honor. 
I took these three of my men and laid for the gang. 
But only Lefty was in sight when the truck came 



along. He lied that their scheme had fallen 
through. We let him go on while we went to catch 
Dorcy. He owned up that Corveau was hiding on 
the truck, under the tarp. We caught the high¬ 
jackers just as Corveau was lying to Kate and Mr. 
Jordan that the bootleg was mine.” 

“ Oh, no, Bullen! ” exclaimed Kate. “ Sidney did 
not actually say it was yours. He would not lie to 
me.” 

“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t,” said Corveau. “Not 
to you.” 

“ I knew it! And, Uncle Drake, I’m sure Bullen 
has been misled by those dreadful bootleggers. 
Here’s a note Sidney left in the sugarbowl this morn¬ 
ing. It says he hoped to rope me a barrel of moon¬ 
shine.” 

Drake read the note and squinted down over his 
half-moon spectacles at Corveau. 

“We’re listening, son. Your turn.” 

“Yes, your honor. Only, first, I’d like Mr. Lort 
to tell why he didn’t fetch Gig with him.” 

“He was badly hurt. Your broncho bucked and 
threw him hard.” 

“Oh, my! A gentled old cowpony — and Gig 
once a broncho buster. I’d like the court to pass on 
Gig’s injuries.” 

“ Keep to relevant matters,” ordered Lort. 

“ I am. Sheriff, I’ll ask you to show his honor 






A Draw 


117 


the deadly weapon with which I committed the legal 
crime of high-jacking.” 

Jordan could not keep his eyes from twinkling as 
he laid the piece of auarter-inch pipe on the judicial 
bench. 

“ I searched him, judge. This is all I found.” 

Corveau looked properly serious. 

“Your honor, I’m testifying under oath — not 
just talking or peddling hearsay. I figured the gang 
was shipping bootleg on Mr. Lort’s truck. I left 
that note for Miss Jordan. Met Lefty on the Cold- 
well road. Didn’t threaten him; didn’t shoot; didn’t 
draw a gun. It was Mr. Lort’s posse that shot off 
his hat and scratched his neck. Mistook him for 
me, maybe. I had heaved the moon nesteggs out 
of two crates and taken their place. Wanted a nice 
peaceful ride. All I did to gentle Lefty was poke 
him in the back with that piece of plumbing.” 

Over the court swept a gale of laughter, shot 
through with yells. Drake hammered his board 
hard to cover his own mirthful cackle. The hilari¬ 
ous uproar drowned even the banging. 

“Order—order!” he shrilled. “Officers, clear 
out all spectators.” 

Jordan and Lort joined forces with the court clerk 
and Bill the bailiff. Their gestures and loud com¬ 
mands hushed the laughter and started the crowd 
jostling for the doors. Drake relented. Court was 



118 


The Two-Gun Man 


one of the town’s few diversions. 

“Hold on, boys. That’s put a stopper on ’em. 
Leave ’em stay.” 

As Lort came back to the table, Corveau went on 
as if nothing had happened: 

“Your honor, I’ve only three things more to say. 
First, I can prove, if necessary, I came here from 
Arizona, fast as my bronc could make it. Second, 
I didn’t have any idea of getting Miss Jordan away 
from Mr. Lort. Third, I’m not saying that Mr. 
Lort had anything to do with that bootleg.” 

Kate put an eager hand on the deputy’s arm. 

“You hear, Bullen. Can’t you be equally fair?” 

Lort reached over and grasped Corveau’s unre¬ 
sponsive hand. He shook it heartily. 

“ Call it quits, kid. Like as not, Dorcv and Lefty 
were primed to lie about me as well as you.” 

“The court has heard enough at this sitting,” 
said Drake. “The evidence is sufficient to hold the 
accused Lefty and — Hey! Where’s that cuss gone 
to?” 

Scores of eyes pried with startled glances into 
every corner of the courtroom. Lefty had vanished. 
Easy enough for him to have drifted out through 
the attorneys’ entrance during the confusion that 
followed the uproar of mirth. 

Jordan and the bailiff ran into the hall. Lort led 
the rush to the windows. He whipped out his auto- 



A Draw 


119 


made and began to fire down into the street. Al 
and the two other Stack Falls Ranch men volleyed 
from the other windows. 

Corveau grinned up into the shrewd face of the 
little judge. Everyone else was looking the other 
way. One of the twinkling eyes behind the half¬ 
moon spectacles slowly closed and opened. 

“What you betting they miss him, boy, heh?” 

“ I never bet on a sure thing, judge. Even up 
there, when they mistook him for me and used 
rifles, they only scratched him.” 

Back from his window rushed Lort, jamming a 
fresh clip of cartridges into his emptied automatic. 

“The skunk’s made his getaway!” he shouted. 
“ Jumped my car. No chance of overhauling that 
speed cart. I’ll phone out all roads-” 

“Down brakes!” ordered Drake. “Wait a 
minute. Regarding that truck of yours. Under the 
law, any conveyance caught transporting bootleg 
_ 

“What!” Lort thumped the table with the butt 
of his pistol. “You heard how they planted the 
stuff on me. I’ve got to haul my cream and let¬ 
tuce. If you hold that truck, I’ll get back at you 
if I have to pull you off the bench by the nose, you 
little shrimp!” 

“Heh! heh! Sounds kind of like contempt of 
court. How-some-over, I reckon the, court’s con- 





120 


The Two-Gun Man 


tempt more’n offsets it. Best hire a-nuther truck, 
Bull. I’ll take yours under advisement. Katie! ” 

The girl came back rather breathless, from the 
nearest window. 

“ Katie, you take that bootleg truck and lock up 
all the evidence in one your cells. You can deliver 
the cream and lettuce to the cream’ry. ’Twould be a 
pity to let good nourishment spoil. But you’ll then 
take the truck home and padlock the wheels till 
further orders of the court.” 

“ Yes, Uncle Drake. Only I think you might give 
it back to Bullen. He couldn’t help what those 
wicked men did.” 

“The law’s the law, Katie. The rain falls alike 
on the just and the just so-so. Sid, you might tote 
this jug of evidence for her, seeing as how it was 
you gathered it in.” 

Lort, purple of face, hurried to elbow his way 
through the crowd, which was streaming out into 
the hall. Corveau moved over to a now unoccupied 
window. He called something down to Jordan, in 
the street below. 

When he and Kate managed to get downstairs 
and outside, they saw Lort arguing with her father 
beside the truck. At sight of her, the deputy jumped 
into a car with his three followers and Jake the 
tall garage man. They whirled off up-town. Kate 
repeated the court’s order to her father. 



A Draw 


121 


By mid-afternoon forty-odd gallons of moonshine 
whiskey were locked up in one of the jail cells; the 
lettuce and cream had been delivered at the 
creamery; and the truck stood in the Jordan barn 
like a chained convict. 

While they were cooking what should have been 
the noon meal, Kate at last found time to express 
her feelings to Corveau. 

“ I felt sure you were not the kind to be mean or 
revengeful, Sidney. We all know it now — even 
Bullen. I want you and him to be good friends.” 

“ I’m ready to be friends with any man who’s 
square and white, Miss Jordan.” 

“The idea! Calling me that, after what you’ve 
done! Make it 4 Kate.’ ” 

“ I will if you’ll let me when you hear. There 
in court I told that I didn’t have any idea of getting 
you away from him. I didn’t. He went and put 
it into my head. I’m in the running now. He has 
the jump on me. Just the same, I’m in the contest 
and-” 

“Sidney! I am engaged to him. You have no 
right.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I have the right to keep trying 
till you’re married. And I’m backing myself to 
win.” 

Kate put up a hand to her darkening eyes. 

“Please, Sidney. You know I’ve given him my 




122 


The Two-Gun Man 


promise. Besides, it’s my duty.” 

“We’ll see about that! Hold on. Don’t go and 
get your dander up at me. I’m not going to be 
pestiferous. It’s only that when you get good and 
ready to shake him, you’ll find me on the waiting 
list.” 

“Oh, well— If you’re going to behave and not 
get silly, you can still make it ‘Kate.’ But we can 
never be anything more than friends.” 



CHAPTER XII 


“best laid schemes-” 

/IT SUNDOWN Jake, the tall grease-smeared 
jljL garage man, stopped off on his way into town, 

“ Mr. Lort told me to report to you as sheriff, 
Mr. Jordan. We found his car about tw T o miles 
beyond Coldwell. Tracks showed where another 
big car had met it and turned back north. Mr. Lort 
thinks it was the regular car used by the bootleg 
gang. He thinks they’ve taken Lefty and cleared 
out, probably for good. No chance to catch them 
now. There’s no description of their car, and they 
can keep Lefty out of sight.” 

Jordan puffed his cheeks. 

“We ought to’ve caught ’em, Jake. It’s some¬ 
thing, though, that we’ve made them skip the 
country.” 

“Did they take Dorcy, too?” asked Corveau. 

“Afraid to come on to Coldwell, I guess,” re¬ 
plied Jake. “And Lefty did not stop by for him. 
Must have raced past.” 

“Is he — the storekeeper—is he badly hurt?” 
asked Kate, in turn. 

“No, Miss Jordan. Bent and dinted, but still in 
running order.” 

“ We’ll see about his running,” said Jordan. “ I’m 

123 



124 


The Two-Gun Man 


going right into town, Katie, and get a search war¬ 
rant for Dorcy’s place. We’ll go out there and give 
him a housecleaning.” 

“That’s right — that’s the dope, Mr. Jordan,” 
approved Jake. “ Clean out the bugs. Never mind 
about your car. I’ll take you down town and back 
in mine.” 

When the sheriff came home Kate was playing 
on the cottage organ and singing old-time songs with 
Corveau. Her father sank back into his easy chair 
and listened dreamily while the singers blended 
their voices in the melodious tunes of his youth. 
Now and then he joined huskily in a refrain or 
chorus. 

At bed time he heaved himself up out of his chair, 
with a sigh: 

“ E-e-ugh! Wish Bullen could carry a tune.” 

At breakfast Corveau ventured a request: 

“ If you’re in no hurry about cutting out those 
steers, sir, I’d admire for to go up to Coldwell with 
you. Mr. Lort said Gig had my horse. I turned 
the bronc loose when I asked Lefty for a ride.” 

Jordan held out the truck driver’s pistol. 

“ I was just about to deputize you, son. It’s pos¬ 
sible the gang may have come back, and Kate insists 
on going with me.” 

Corveau thrust the big automatic into his girdle, 
a little to the right of the front. He whistled bird 



“Best Laid Schemes—” 


125 


trills as he hastened out for the flivver. It was great 
fun spinning off in the cool of sunrise with Kate at 
his elbow. Pa weighted down the rear nicely. The 
ride up the valley and over the mountain was as 
pleasurable in its way as had been the joy-ride on 
the truck with Lefty. 

The morning was still young when they rattled 
up to Coldwell. A man sat huddled on the side of 
the horse-trough, sopping his face with a dirty towel. 
He gave a nervous start and jerked up his head. 
All one side of his face was so black and swollen 
that Corveau had to look twice to recognize him. 
A closer view showed raw bruises and cuts in the 
puffed skin. The eye on that side was swollen shut 
and the nose badly skinned. 

“ ’Lo, Gig. You look like you’ve leaned up 
against a cyclone.” 

“ Y’r bronc bucked me off — kicked me.” 

u My, my, my! First time I ever knew he wore 
hobnails on his shoes.” 

Dorcy stooped again to resume the sopping. Jor¬ 
dan drew out a long envelope. 

“ I have a warrant here, George Dorcy, to search 
your premises.” 

“ Uh-huh. Go far’s you like. Nothin’s locked.” 

“ Sidney will help you, father,” said Kate. “ I 
am going to bandage his face. Witch hazel is better 
than water.” 



126 


The Two-Gun Man 


She stepped from the car with the valise that held 
her medical kit. Corveau followed Jordan into the 
garage. The few oil cans and gasoline drums were 
soon examined. The searchers looked under the 
porch and then proceeded to ransack the store. 
. . . . No results. They went back into the 

old house, to pry into every nook and corner. 
. . . . Much dirt but no moonshine. 

Out in the barn Corveau found his horse, loose 
and unsaddled, near an open bin of oats. The 
animal was gorged and as dry as the premises. Kate 
and Dorcy had gone into the house. After refill¬ 
ing the water-trough for his broncho, Corveau re¬ 
turned to the aid of his puffing chief. 

Some time after noon they finished their search 
of the last outbuilding and all the clumps of bushes 
and young spruce that covered the creek bottom back 
of the house. They returned as empty-handed as 
they had started out, Corveau humming a tune, Jor¬ 
dan crimson from exertion and the heat. 

They found Dorcy, neatly bandaged, stretched 
on a cot in the garage. Kate was cooking a meal. 
Corveau helped her serve it on a plank beside 
Dorcy’s cot. She fed the injured man soft food 
that required little movement of his sore jaw. He 
ate like a starved wolf. 

Instead of helping Kate clear away the dishes, 
Corveau went to saddle his horse. Groaning and 



“ Best Laid Schemes 


127 


cursing, Dorcy hobbled after him to the barn. In 
the doorway of the stable end Corveau turned upon 
him. 

u So you thought you’d throw me — and got 
spilled yourself.” 

“ Spilled? He’d ’a’ kicked me plumb to jelly, Sid, 
on’y a car come along. He’s a devil — a black- 
hearted devil! ” 

“You mean-” 

“No, I don’t — I don’t! It’s that bootleg boss 
I’m talking ’bout, him and his gang. For God’s 
sake, Sid, hit out! They’ve got it in for you. They 
won’t stop at nothing to get you! ” 

Corveau’s eyes gleamed. His lips quirked. 

“So they haven’t hit out themselves? Chance of 
me getting some action.” 

“ It’s them’ll get action, and they’ll get you, too. 
You never stacked up ag’in’ a outfit tricky as them, 
kid.” 

“Yeah?” Corveau patted his girdle. “Just tell 
’em for me my forgettery has gone and done it. 
I’ve plumb disremembered how to get scared. AI 
and Lefty know as well as you, I never could back 
out of a game like this. Miss Kate has my pair 
of sixes. But I hold Lefty’s ten. It ought to be 
a good enough hand to bet against three-four jacks 
and a king.” 

The storekeeper shook his bandaged head. 




128 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Might ’a’ knowed it, you locoed ijit! I’ll go 
phone the coroner.” 

“And your black-hearted devil-boss, eh?” 

Dorcy cringed and went hobbling back to the 
garage. 

Kate had told Corveau to jog along. She could 
not abide to leave Dorcy’s kitchen as dirty as she 
had found it. The broncho, though sluggish from 
drinking after his gorge of oats, covered two of the 
three miles to the creek crossing before the flivver 
overtook him. Jordan, at the wheel, had no idea 
that the horse was hardly in condition to lope. He 
rattled past at a lively clip. 

A touch put the broncho into a gallop. He held 
his own with the car for a while, then slowed to a 
jog. As on the day before, Corveau sat his saddle 
limp and seemingly careless. But his glances darted 
here and there, from the rocks and hill gullies on 
his left to the creek-bottom thickets of alder on his 
right. 

By the time he reached the bridge the car was 
out of sight, laboriously climbing the first heavy 
grade. About seventy-five yards up-stream from the 
crossing the thickets ended at a stretch of open 
meadow. As the horse struck the planks of the 
bridge he eased down into a walk. He was half 
way across when his rider’s watchful eye caught a 
tiny flashlike glint in the green wall of the alders. 



“ Best Laid Schemes —” 


129 


Down ducked Corveau on the nigh side of his 
horse. In the same instant four rifle bullets zipped 
viciously through the space where, a fraction of a 
second before, had been his head and body. To the 
assassins it must have looked as if he had been 
hurled out of his saddle by the shots. Two of 
them sprang up into view. 

Corveau, clinging to the side of his horse in the 
old Comanche manner, fired low over the dip of the 
ewe-neck — three shots so rapid that their reports 
blurred together in a single roar. The men dropped 
out of sight, one of them clutching at his shoulder. 
But the two others fired back. Corveau felt a blow' 
on the leg that he had crooked behind the cantle of 
the saddle. At the same time his horse stumbled 
and pitched down. 

He whirled clear, with a roll and twist that 
brought him to the lower side of the bridge and 
over the edge. Catlike, he splashed down into the 
creek bed on his feet and bounded in under the 
shadow of the bridge. Two jumps through the 
shallow stream brought him to the stone-filled log 
crib upon which rested the ends of the huge pine- 
trunk bridge stringers. 

Blindly aimed bullets poured in under the bridge. 
Corveau flattened himself behind the jut of the crib’s 
up-stream head. There he waited, his eyes dancing 
with happy excitement. The fools kept up their 



130 


The Two-Gun Man 


futile bombardment. He grinned. Even if they 
should separate and circle around, none could get a 
shot at him without coming within range of the big 
automatic. 

The stinging of his right leg forced itself upon his 
attention. He recalled the blow that he had felt 
just as his poor old broncho went down. The bullet 
had ripped aslant the calf. He could feel a warm 
trickle going down into his boot. No use getting 
weak from loss of blood. He tied his neckerchief 
tightly around the leg. 

The crackling reports of the rifles suddenly 
blanked into silence. He gripped the pistol and 
crouched to peer. Above the ripple of the creek 
sounded a familiar shriek of brakes. He dashed 
to the lower side of the bridge. Yes, there was the 
flivver, rolling down the toe of the ^rade! He yelled 
at the top of his voice: 

“ Hi! hi! Step on the gas! Cut and run! Boot¬ 
leggers ! ” 

The car stopped with a jerk. Out stepped Kate, 
and out stepped her father. Corveau shouted again 
-^-warned them — begged them to run down to his 
shelter. Kate merely waved her hand to him. 

Her father paid no heed whatever. He threw 
back his coat front to show his star, and walked 
straight towards the alder thicket. He did not draw 
his pistol. What use to do that against men in 



“Best Laid Schemes 


131 


cover? He was a poor shot, anyway. But he was 
sheriff of the county. His duty was to arrest law¬ 
breakers. 

Never had Corveau seen such an exhibition of 
foolhardy moral courage. It held him transfixed, 
spellbound with sheer amazement. Then he saw 
Kate start after her father. Up around the end 
of the bridge he dashed. He charged at the thicket, 
hopping wildly from side to side, firing the pistol, 
yelling like a madman. 

Midway he realized that no answering shots had 
blazed out of the alders. He sprinted in a bee line. 
Still no rifle shots. He crashed into the border of 
the thicket. There were the nests, all right; but 
the birds had flown. A spot of liquid red on the 
soft leaf mold showed why that one of them had 
clutched his shoulder. Corveau kicked dirt over 
the place. 

Kate and her father came up, forced into an un¬ 
dignified run by Corveau’s wild rush. 

“Gone!” panted Jordan. “Wha’ for — jewgo’n 
— flush ’em?” 

Kate peered into the shady depths of the thicket. 

“ Perhaps they only drew back.” 

“No, Miss Kate; they went a-running. Must 
have scattered when they saw your car.” 

Jordan puffed his cheeks. 

“That’s likely enough. The law’s the law. Few 



132 


The Two-Gun Man 


men care to face a sheriff. Notice the difference, son. 
It’s common knowledge by this time that you’re a 
dead shot. Yet they made a try for you. But the 
minute they saw me coming, they lit out. Moral 
force is stronger than firearms.” 

“Yes, sir. Only this time I think it was more 
owing to Miss Kate.” 

“Me? You think I’m as frightful as all that, 
Sidney?” The girl’s amused glance caught sight of 
the kerchief on his leg. “Oh! They shot you as 
well as your poor horse! ” 

“Just a little nick.” 

But Kate insisted upon at once dressing the wound. 
While she sterilized and bandaged it, her father- 
got out the towline to haul the dead broncho from 
the bridge. He also took off the animal’s bridle and 
uncinched the saddle. 

He and Corveau were rolling the body over, to 
clear the broad hair girth, when a big maroon car 
swooped down the road from Coldwell. Kate 
jerked the saddle free and stood up. 

“Here’s Bullen, Father.” 

Only one cartridge remained in Lefty’s automatic. 
With his back to the stopping car Corveau shifted 
the pistol to the other side of his sash girdle. The 
car was packed with men, every one holding a rifle 
or shotgun. Lort jumped out to clasp Kate’s hands. 

“ You’re safe! Only a horse killed.” 





“Best Laid Schemes—” 


133 


“ Sail right, Mr. Lort,” replied Corveau. “One 
lone bronc. Unlucky critter stubbed his toe and 
died of heart failure.” 

Literally true as was the statement, Kate did not 
relish its grim humor. 

“ That dreadful bootleg gang, Bullen! They way¬ 
laid Sidney-” 

“ Thought so,” broke in Lort. “ Dorcy has 
learned his lesson. No more siding of the gang for 
him. He phoned me about your searching his place. 
Was afraid the gang might come down on you. I 
grabbed up a bunch of my boys and came as fast 
as I could make it.” 

“ It was good of you, Bullen. But they ran when 
father turned back to arrest them. They’re a pack 
of cowards!” 

“That’s no lie, Miss Kate,” approved Corveau. 

He looked blandly from Lort’s red-granite face to 
the mixed faces in the car. Those of the three tow- 
haired Swede dairymen were mild. The others were 
as hard as the boss’s. 

“Where’s my old fond Al? He has a booze- 
hound nose for bootleg. Put him on a still hunt, 
and you’ll find the ’leggers. Where the carcass is, 
there the buzzards are gathered together.” 

“ Don’t try to be funny,” said Lort. “We know 
this moonshine is being run through from Wyoming. 
I’m not certain yet that you haven’t a hand in it.” 




134 


The Two-Gun Man 


“ Sure thing. That’s why they knocked the bronc 
out from under me. Put me on my feet, they did. 
I won’t mind paying them for it.” 

Jordan broke in on this — to him — meaningless 
banter. 

“No chance to catch the scoundrels now, Bullen. 
We can’t leave the dead horse here. If you and 
your men-” 

“I’ll see you and Kate safe over the mountain. 
We’ll remove the carcass on our way back.” 

As Corveau swung his saddle and bridle upon his 
shoulder he took a last look at the broncho. Though 
of scrub stock, the animal had been a good cowpony 
and somewhat of a friend. 




CHAPTER XIII 


TONGUE AND TRIGGER 

L ORT did not turn back with his carload of armed 
J men until he had escorted the flivver across to 
Elk Valley. Late in the day he drove down alone 
to take supper with the Jordans and report the 
search for the would-be murderers. 

“Trail led ’cross the creek, up east over the 
rid'ge, and down to where a car had stood, off the 
road beyond Coldwell. One of the bunch had been 
hit. Makes me want to apologize to you, Corveau. 
Looks like you shot to kill. It clears you. Only 
thing, it means they’re dead sure to get you now, if 
you stay around here.” 

“ Oh, my! ” sighed Corveau. “And me hankering 
for this peaceful pastoral life! That gang must be 
led by a crool black-hearted devil. He goes and 
puts me on my feet; then figures on my using them! ” 
“Better that than what your broncho got,” said 
Lort, and hfe started to question Kate about the 
plans for their house. He left immediately after 
supper. 

Kate had become very thoughtful. Nor could 
Corveau rally her out of the pensive mood during 
the dish washing. When they came into the parlor 

135 


136 • 


The Two-Gun Man 


her father asked for a song. Corveau hastened to 
the organ. But Kate stopped beside the ancient wal¬ 
nut whatnot. 

“Father, I’ve been thinking. You deputized Sid¬ 
ney. Fie was serving with you today under the 
search warrant. Hasn’t he a right to claim compen¬ 
sation from the county for his horse?” 

“Why — he’s still a prisoner. Seeing, though, 
as how I deputized him. Yes, I reckon the commis¬ 
sioners’ll allow his claim.” 

“They certainly will if he assigns the claim to 
you. We’ll trade him the black mare for it.” 

“ No, you won’t,” objected Corveau. “ That mare 
is part thoroughbred. She’s worth double my bronc. 
Besides, she’s your own.” 

“That’s why, Sidney. You’ll take her from me, 
I know.” 

“ If you ask me to, yes, I will. Anything you 
say goes.” 

She caught at this- 

“Then we’ll ask Uncle Drake, and you’ll go 
away at once, out of reach of those horrid bootleg¬ 
gers!” 

“Uh — that—” Corveau smiled across at Jor¬ 
dan— “that’s a hoss of another color. I’ll leave 
it to pa if it ain’t.” 

“ ‘ Is not,’ Sidney. Don’t say, 1 ain’t.’ ” 

“ Yesum. Being with you, I ought to know * ain’t ’ 




Tongue and Trigger 


137 


ain’t correct. But I need a lot more improving. 
That’s why I’ve got to stick here and get it.” 

“ Please be serious. This isn’t your county. 
You’re not an officer. You have no right to stay and 
be shot by those terrible men.” 

“ Yes, I have, too. I’m personally acquainted with 
some of them. I knew Gig when he was a broken- 
down tinhorn gambler, and Lefty before he and A1 
hopped over into Mexico for sufficient reasons.” 

Jordan bent forward and asked with kindly in¬ 
terest : 

“ Sid, what those three told about you w T as a pack 
of lies. Kate and I are agreed on that. All the 
same, if you’d just as leave, we wouldn’t mind hear¬ 
ing what you have to say about the four alleged 
killings.” 

“ I don’t mind, sir — not now. It’s kind of in the 
family. Well, my dad was a two-gun sheriff down in 
New Mexico. A Border smuggler got him in the 
back. I was only sixteen. I trailed the murderer 
three years ’fore I caught him. Told him my name. 
He drew first.” 

“ Sounds like justifiable self-defense,” said Jordan. 

Kate hesitated. 

Tl Why, ye-es, Sidney, if he murdered your 
father; then tried to kill you also.” 

“That was the jury’s verdict, Miss Kate. The 
next two that I got didn’t need verdicts. I’d been 



138 


The Two-Gun Man 


made deputy sheriff. Pleaded off two escaped con¬ 
victs. They wouldn’t throw up. Both cut loose at 
me. I got a thousand reward.” 

“Oh, as you were an officer. But the fourth? 
Bullen said they claimed he was your partner.” 

Corveau reddened. 

“That thousand dollars reward money spilled me. 
I got to drinking and was fired. Fell in with a tough 
gang — Al, Lefty, Gig and Pat O’Keefe. They 
stacked the cards on me for what was left of my 
roll. Gig quit. Others strung me along with booze 
till O’Keefe killed a man we had framed. Man’s 
nephew got me to vote dry. He took me on as his 
side-kick. We served a bench warrant on O’Keefe 
for the murder. I’m proudest of all of getting Pat. 
He was an honest-to-goodness gunman, quick as a 
flash on the draw.” 

“Proud, Sidney?” reproached Kate. “You may 
have had to do it as a matter of official duty. But 
you should feel sorry over taking any human life.” 

“ Not if it ain’t — isn’t — human. Pat was a cross 
between a rattlesnake and a bulldog.” 

Jordan’s interest ran along another line. 

“You said it was a bad gang. I reckon you left 
Arizona to avoid trouble with the survivors.” 

“What! Me run from Al and Lefty?” Corveau 
smiled at the joke. “They hit out for the Border. 
There was another coyote in the bunch. He shot me 




Tongue and Trigger 


139 


from behind. He’s in the penitentiary now. My 
side-kick and his wife’s pa made me foreman. Up 
here you’d call it a real big cow outfit.” 

The portly sheriff held to his line with good-na¬ 
tured persistence: 

“Foreman? That would be too good a job to 
quit. Took to drinking again, did you, and got let 
loose?” 

“No, sir. I quit.” 

“Why?” 

Corveau squinted down at the front of his girdle. 

“Two guns and four men too many, that’s why. 
Pat had a name. Getting him put a shine on my 
record. Bad’uns that thought themselves quick on 
the draw began to drift into Ariquito, looking for 
me and Old Man Trouble.” 

“So you ran away?” Kate voiced her approval. 

“Yes, ma’am — after winging three-four the birds 
that just had to be shown. You never saw such fun. 
More of ’em I winged, more the buzzards came 
winging to get me. Only trouble, the family got to 
worrying lest my guns snap on dud cartridges. To 
ease ’em I hit out for parts where I wasn’t known.” 

Kate eyed the runaway thoughtfully. 

“Didn’t you realize that flaunting your — your 
conspicuous sash and hat and carrying those two big 
revolvers in front, would everywhere attract against 
you the same kind of evil men?” 



140 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Yes, ma’am — best sort of bait when you want 
to get action — ’specially the twin sixes. They jazz 
up the bulldozers like the red sash would jazz a 
bull. But all the way up here I ran across only two 
with nerve enough to draw.” 

“You mean-” 

“ Honest-to-goodness, it’s true. Times ain’t — is 
not — what they used to be. Why, some of the hard¬ 
est boiled ones took me for a movie actor. Wanted 
I should help get ’em into the pictures, so’s they 
could show up the Tom Harts and Bill Mixes and 
rescue the heerowine their ownselves.” 

“There’s a movie company now making a picture 
down at the canon,” said Kate. “ But, oh, Sidney, 
you’re making a joke of your terrible attractiveness. 
What you call fun and action is playing upon the 
vanity and envy of the worst kind of men. Your 
two guns are a challenge for them to try to murder 
you.” 

“Yes, just as I said—like a red rag to a bull,” 
agreed Corveau. 

Jordan was a bit too slow and Kate too absorbed 
in her distress to heed the emphasis on the last word. 
The girl’s eyes purpled with entreaty. 

“Sidney, I’ve heard Uncle Drake tell of the old 
days here when he first became judge. He had few 
murder and rustler cases come before him. The 
vigilantes attended to them, or else the killers de- 




Tongue and Trigger 


141 


stroyed each other. The pity of it, he says, is that 
so many of them —like you — started in as honest 
sheriffs or deputies; but having killed one or more 
men in their line of duty, they were forced by their 
reputations to become regular killers.” 

With that look in Kate’s eyes, Corveau could not 
take this jestingly. 

“Well, yes, it is a risk. Some of the trouble- 
hunters are so rattlesnaky they’re apt to die of their 
own poison, even if no more than scratched. And 
I’ve known jurors squash-headed enough to hang 
the scratcher.” 

“You don’t understand me, Sidney. It’s not the 
punishment from others that I’m thinking about. 
It’s the effect on yourself. You must not go on tak¬ 
ing the chance of becoming a hardened killer — a 
— a murderer! ” 

“ I get you, Miss Kate. Leastways, I hope I’m 
going to get you.” 

“ Do be serious! ” 

“ I am. Never was more dead set on anything in 
all my born days.” 

Kate colored deeply, and for once her steady gaze 
wavered. She rallied and covered her confusion with 
a show of severity. 

“You forget yourself. I am going to marry Bul- 
len.” 

“Nothing is sure in this world, ma’am.” 



142 


The Two-Gun Man 


The ominous word struck aside the girl’s self- 
consciousness. 

“Oh, Sidney, please stop trifling! It’s your soul 
I’m thinking about. I want your promise to go 
away from here as soon as I get Uncle Drake’s 
consent, and I want you to stop wearing that sash 
and sombrero and your revolvers in front.” 

“How about a deal? I won’t perjure myself by 
promising to go away. But I’ll consider giving up 
my badman bait if you’ll give me a hair off your 
head.” 

Jordan stiffened out of his amplitudinous ease. 

“What’s that? Don’t you take liberties round 
here, young man.” 

“ No offense, sir. Miss Kate savvies what I mean. 
She’s the one that’s stirring up all this fuss about 
my soul. If it’s worth saving, it ought to be worth 
one single, solitary, wavy, dark-” 

But Kate had given up the contest and fled, with 
a desperate effort at staid dignity and a pair of scar¬ 
let cheeks. 

To appease her father, Corveau had to repeat the 
story of Old Nick and the single hair. It placated 
Jordan back into his usual genial humor. 

“Glad you explained, Sid. Only don’t go and 
disappoint yourself over Katie. She has given Sul¬ 
len her promise. You’ve cleared things up about 
your past. But you’re a drifter, without even a cow- 




Tongue and Trigger 


143 


hand job. Rullen Lort is a man of standing, both in 
politics and business. Besides owning Stack Falls 
Ranch clear, he is fast paying off what he had to bor¬ 
row at the bank when he bought the Elk Creamery.” 

“ Pleased to hear that, sir.” 

“You are? That’s generous, son—wishing him 
success.” 

“Nope. I meant, glad to know he owns the 
creamery. It connects things up. G’night. I’ll try 
out my mare as a cowpony in the morning. You and 
Miss Kate have been mighty white to me. I’m going 
to do my level best to square up for it.” 

But in the morning, when he started for the cor¬ 
ral, Kate noticed the limp that he could not quite 
hide. 

“Come back,” she ordered. “You’re not going 
to ride today. It would inflame your wound.” 

“I’ve loafed enough already on this job.” 

“If you don’t behave, we’ll put you back in jail. 
Won’t we, father? I know what! You can drive 
me down to the canon, to see those movie actors. 
I never saw a picture being made. On the way we’ll 
have Doctor Mack look at your wound.” 

In vain Corveau protested the needlessness of any 
doctor meddling over a mere trifle of a nick in the 
muscle, after she had given it first aid. He yielded 
to more threats of jail and of calling off the picnic. 
Jordan approved the idea of a holiday for Kate, but 



144 


The Two-Gun Man 


felt no hankering himself to see play-actors. 

Corveau had no objections to a drive all alone 
with Kate. Fie was smiling with anticipation when, 
stiff from the stitches and new bandages of his 
wound, he limped from the doctor’s drug store 
office. Kate had driven around the block to get 
some fruit for their picnic lunch. He found her 
empty flivver before the drug store. Just ahead of 
it stood a big maroon car. Kate sat beside the 
driver. 

“Jump in behind, Sidney,” she directed. “I told 
Bullen about the movie company. He’s going to run 
down with us. Isn’t it fine?” 

“Fine’s no name for it! Fact is, the pleasure’s 
greater than I can bear. I’ll run Lizzie home.” 

Lort leaned over to beckon and sing out heartily: 

“ Come along, Sid. Be a sport. Kate won’t go 
if you back out — else I’d have had her half way 
down there by now. Says she’s got up this picnic 
on account of your leg.” 

“Yes, Sidney—please.” 

Corveau rather sullenly hobbled to the car and 
climbed into the roomy tonneau. He could not cut 
Kate out of her holiday. But the “ three’s a crowd ” 
drive down the river did not add to his love of Bull 
Lort. 

Half an hour along the disused pioneer road that 
paralleled the railroad brought them to where the 



Tongue and Trigger 


145 


mountains closed in on the river to form the canon. 
The motion picture company was taking scenes 
around the big silver mine that had been shut down 
in 1893. The mill and other buildings had been 
converted into a Wild West picture mining camp. 

As the visitors kept behind the grinding cameras 
they attracted little attention from the shouting di¬ 
rector and engrossed actors. But sight of the pistol 
duel between hero and villain proved too much for 
Corveau. He chuckled. 

“I savvy, Miss Kate. It’s one those comedy 
pictures.” 

The director turned to glare at the intruders, 
caught the stare of Lort’s cold green eyes, and 
touched his hat to Kate. Then his glance fixed upon 
the sombrero and scarlet sash girdle of Corveau. 

“Ah, trying to break into the pictures, I see, my 
gay young buckaroo.” 

“Who — me? No, sir. There’s a sight more 
fun in real action.” 

Lort cut in warningly on the director’s sarcastic 
smile: 

“Don’t rile the boy. He’s Kid Corveau — the 
real article — an Arizona two-gun man.” 

The director’s look of contemptuous incredulity 
rasped Corveau. He turned appealingly to Kate. 

“Mind if I show ’em up? No winging. Just 
play.” 



146 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Why, if nobody is to be hurt, Sidney.” 

He nodded to the director. 

“Miss Jordan is jailoress of this county. She’s 
let me out as a trusty, but keeps my sixes in the cala¬ 
boose. If you’ll loan me a pair with real pills aboard 
’em— No, hold on a minute.” 

Drawn by curiosity, the two dozen or more actors 
and employes were gathering around the visitors. 
Corveau examined the revolvers of the hero and 
villain to make sure they were loaded only with 
blank cartridges. He returned the hero’s gun, put 
the other in his hip pocket, stepped off a few paces, 
and signalled for orders. 

“Ready for action,” snapped the director. 
“Draw!” 

The borrowed revolver flashed into sight, roared 
from Corveau’s hip, and was back in the pocket, all 
before the actor could jerk his weapon from its hol¬ 
ster. He went red under his rose-tint make-up. 

“Anyone can do a flip shot from the hip and claim 
a hit.” 

“Three shots, buddy,” said Corveau. “You’re 
dead three times. Look for yourself.” 

Examination of the revolver showed one unfired 
cartridge out of the six. The actor villain had fired 
only twice in his duel with the hero. The hero 
doubted more than ever. 

“ No man could make even one hit, firing so fast.” 




Tongue and Trigger 


147 


Corveau smiled and called for bullet cartridges. 
He tested the sights of both guns with one shot from 
each at a thirty-yard mark, and deliberately re¬ 
loaded. 

“Left hand ’un carries a trifle high and to the 
right,” he said. “Now I’ll show you an old-time 
play I learned from my dad. They called it the 
double roll.” 

He set up two empty cans on a stretch of level 
ground, walked back twenty paces, whirled, and 
fired with both revolvers. It sounded like one big 
roar. The cans whirled over the ground as if struck 
by a blast of wind. 

Corveau quietly turned around and shelled out 
the cylinders into the director’s hands. Five out of 
each six cartridges had been fired. The astonished 
man found his voice: 

“You’re the real two-gun kid, cowboy! Never 
saw the like of it! Double roll, is it? But why not 
all six shots?” 

“That’s a tenderfoot question. Always keep one 
back. Just suppose Mr. Lort here was laying for 
me, and I got careless and plugged my last shot at 
the can? Even he might be able to draw before I 
could reload.” 

The side thrust passed unnoticed by everyone ex¬ 
cept Lort. One of the actors had run to fetch the 
two cans. 


\ 



148 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Look!” he cried. “They’re all riddled.” 

“ Came near missing once with that left-hand 
gun,” admitted Corveau. 

The exquisite little lady star of the company gave 
him a languishing glance. He retreated to the pro¬ 
tection of Kate. The director held up his hand. 

“Wait, cowboy. Your address? I may want 
to use you.” 

“ Give him his own front-hung guns, and he’s good 
for any kind of badman work,” said Lort in his 
bluffest, heartiest tone. “He got shot in the leg 
only yesterday, owing to a mixup over bootleg.” 

All the movie people stared harder than ever at 
Corveau, except the doll-faced star. She smiled at 
him ravishingly. How interesting to meet such a 
nice-looking cowboy gunman, a real bootlegger and 
two-gun badman! 



CHAPTER XIV 


THE CHINA SHOP 

K ATE gravely gave Corveau’s address as, 
“ Care of Sheriff Jordan, Elk,” and drew him 
back, away from the queer movie people. That 
painted little girl with the yellow curls was alto¬ 
gether too free with her eyes. Actresses were not 
safe associates for a boy like Sidney. 

Having noted the two-gun man’s address, the di¬ 
rector jerked about and shouted orders that sent 
even the star hurrying to resume the interrupted 
scene. Corveau said something about the cuteness 
of the little play-lady. 

“ Isn’t she, though! ” agreed Kate. “With those 
lumps of shoe-blacking on her eyelashes, and her 
face as if she’d fallen into a pink flour barrel, only 
for her lips all a smeary daub of wagon paint! ” 

“ I’ve heard they have to do it to picture good,” 
Corveau defended his fair allurer. “ Besides, she 
hasn’t plastered it on half as thick as some high- 
society dames I saw at a millionaire tourist hotel 
down near Manitou.” 

Kate turned her back on him. 

“ Bullen, I’ve seen enough of these painted crea¬ 
tures. Do you mind bumping your car over the hill? 

149 



150 


The Two-Gun Man 


There’s a nice place at Fish Creek.” 

Lort dragged his gaze away from the actress star 
and somewhat reluctantly followed Kate back to his 
car. The road twisted up the ridge and down to an 
old log bridge across the little gorge of a cascading 
brook. The bridge would have been unsafe even 
for a flivver. But the spot was ideal for a picnic. 

Kate produced a jointed rod, with reel, line and 
flies. Lort did not care to flsh. He sat down with 
his broad back against the trunk of an aspen and 
chewed slowly on the butt end of a black cigar, deep 
in thought. 

Because of Corveau’s injured leg, Kate did not 
offer him the rod. She scrambled down the steep 
rock wall of the tiny gorge and started to work her 
way along the foam-drenched ledges of the rapids, 
deftly casting her fly into the pools. Corveau found 
that by careful going he could get down the little 
cliff and follow his leader without much strain on 
his leg. Kate, beyond doubt, would have ordered 
him back. But she was too absorbed in her angling 
to look around, and the roar of the cascades covered 
the click of his boot heels on the boulders. 

By the time Kate came to where the creek gushed 
under the railroad bridge into the river, she had eight 
or nine fair-sized mountain trout on a string. She 
turned to fish back upstream, and caught Corveau at 
her heels. 



The China Shop 


151 


u Oh, Sidney!” she cried. “Your wound!” 

“ Doesn’t bother me a bit.” 

“Yes, but when you try to climb up. I know what. 
We’ll go around the easy way.” 

She led up over the end of the bridge. The rail¬ 
road, on down the river, hugged a sheer forty-foot 
cliff. Its roadbed was upheld on the outer side by a 
dry-laid stone retaining wall, built upon the edge 
of the river bed. At the insistence of Corveau, Kate 
permitted him to carry the trout while she fished 
along the embankment. 

As they rounded the long curve they saw Lort 
bounding down a break in the cliffs that sloped to 
the railroad tracks. He shouted and pointed down- 
canon. Kate cried out for Corveau to run. They 
were no more than past the end of the cliff when the 
little narrow-gauge engine of the noon train came 
puffing up around the curve below the open stretch. 

Corveau and Kate stood close together, flushed 
and breathless, while the train thundered past. 
There had been no real danger. They would have 
been safe had they lain flat in the narrow space be¬ 
tween the inner rail and the cliff foot. But the race 
against the engine had given them a feeling of 
shared adventure. They smiled at each other like 
children who have taken an exciting risk. 

Lort shouted above the metallic shrilling of the 
car wheels on the upper curve: 



152 


The Two-Gun Man 


11 Thought you’d get caught, Kate. Came to warn 


you.” 

Kate waved her appreciation and started up the 
slope of the wooded break. Lort slanted across to 
join her in the climb. Both soon left Corveau lag¬ 
ging. The run had strained the bullet-torn muscles 
of his leg. He could have borne the pain. The 
difficulty was that the leg could not bear him. 

He was cutting a young aspen to use for staff- 
crutch when Kate rushed down to him. 

“ Oh, Sidney, how utterly thoughtless of me! I’m 
so ashamed!” 

“ ’Sail right. Not a blowout. Only my punctured 
tire’s gone flat on me. If you’ll take the fish, I’ll 
make the grade with this stick, easy as rolling off a 
log.” 

“ You’ll do no such thing. Bullen! ” 

Lort had followed her down the slope. Some¬ 
thing in the way he peered over the ledge above the 
two suggested a mountain lion crouched to bound on 
a deer. 

“Well?” he replied. 

“It’s Sidney’s leg. I shouldn’t have let him use it 
at all today. We’ll have to help him up to the car.” 

Without a word, Lort jumped from the ledge and 
swung around beside Corveau. He may have wished 
to show off his strength in contrast with Corveau’s 
disability, or he may only have had in mind to please 






The China Shop 


153 


Kate. Whatever his motive, he grasped the unwill¬ 
ing cripple and slung him over his thick shoulder 
like a sack of grain. 

Though the climb was stiff in places, he refused 
Kate’s help and made the top without a single hadt 
for breath. At the road Corveau struggled to get 
down. Lort held fast to him until across the bridge. 
Then, upon the lap robes pulled out of the car by 
Kate, the deputy lowered his burden with exagger¬ 
ated carefulness, as if handling a sick baby. 

White rims showed in Corveau’s eyes. But Kate 
called upon Lort to build a fire while she went down 
to dress the fish. The mocking green eyes turned 
away with the straightening of the thickset body. 
Corveau, his mouth like a thin gash, watched his 
; enemy gather twigs and sticks for the fire. 

The fuel was ablaze before Lort noticed the 
emptiness of his holster. He looked around for the 
missing weapon, and suddenly stiffened. The muzzle 
of the automatic was staring him in the face. Cor¬ 
veau crooked the forefinger of his unoccupied hand. 

“ Come and get it.” 

Lort stood as if frozen. Corveau murmured 
soothingly: 

“Aw, come on and get it. It’s not coming to you. 
Don’t be scared. You’re not going to get what’s 
coming to you till later on.” 

Regardless of the white-rimmed eyes and gash- 







154 


The Two-Gun Man 


like mouth, Lort walked straight over to the chal¬ 
lenger. Corveau smiled his ironical approval. 

“At least you’re not a fourflusher, Bull.” He 
held up the automatic, butt foremost. “Y’ought to 
be more careful. It fell out, right into my hand, 
when you reposed me on my downy cot.” 

The instant Lort’s powerful fingers gripped the 
pistol hilt he glanced over his shoulder. Kate was 
still down beside the roaring cascades of the little 
gorge. He glared at the outstretched mocker over 
the barrel of the automatic and drew back his booted 
foot. 

“Whoa, bronc!” said Corveau. “You ain’t got ; 
no right to buck and tromp me like I was poor old 
tinhorn Gig. You’re plumb dead, Mister Bronc— ; 
leastways your little popper is.” 

Lort stepped back and slammed open the cylinder 
of his pistol. The barrel was empty .... also 
the magazine. He reached for a fresh clip of car¬ 
tridges, his eyes on Corveau. The brown-black eyes 
gazed back at him, aglow with pleased interest. The j 
smile on the thin lips broadened. They murmured 
urgently: 

“Go on and load. Take your time. I’ll wait till 
you shuck one into the barrel.” 

This proved too much for even Lort’s nerve. 
Would the smiling young devil have dared to hand 
back the pistol if he did not have another on him? 


4 






The China Shop 


155 


Not improbably the easy going Jordan had permit¬ 
ted him to keep Lefty’s automatic. 

The empty pistol jammed into its holster as Lort 
swung around to heap more sticks on the fire and 
get out the frying pan. 

Kate soon came hastening with the trout and her 
coffeepot. While the fish sizzled in the pan and the 
coffee came to a boil, she laid out the rest of the 
lunch close to Corveau. It was a feast to be re¬ 
membered. The trout would have made an epicure’s 
mouth water. By the time Lort had eaten a full 
half of them he had regained his usual bluff, hearty 
manner. 

When at last certain that the men could eat no 
more, Kate found time to worry over Corveau’s 
wound. She discovered that the bandage had 
slipped. Her concern redoubled. She insisted upon 
at once returning to see the doctor. 

Corveau scrambled to his feet and hopped into 
the tonneau of the car before she could offer her 
hand or ask Lort to lift him. She followed and 
made ready to support him against the jolting of the 
car on the rough road. 

There was need for both to keep well braced. 
Going back to town Lort hit the bumps much harder 
than coming out. In front of the doctor’s office he 
stopped short, close to the Jordan flivver. 

“ Thank you so much, Bullen, for the ride,” said 



156 


The Two-Gun Man 


Kate. “ I’ll take Sidney home in our car.” 

As Corveau hopped out Lort turned about and 
grasped Kate’s arm. 

“Hold on. Office blinds down. Doc’s not home. 
While Corveau waits for him we’ll take a spin. I’ve 
something to tell you.” 

The urgent look that went with this brought Kate 
around into the front seat beside him. It would be 
better for Sidney, while waiting, to rest in the small¬ 
er car than to get another jolting. The maroon 
car shot away like a spurred racer. It whirled off 
on the up-river highway. 

Corveau thoughtfully drew himself up into the 
front seat of the flivver. As soon as the big car 
disappeared he drove out to the ranch. Jordan, doz¬ 
ing through the heat of the afternoon in the shaded 
side porch, blinked and mumbled drowsily: 

“Back a’ready? Have a good time? Huh-— 
y’lone? What you done with Kate?” 

“She up and deserted me — ran off with a red- 
face bull.” 

“Uh!—” The down-jolt upon his chair’s legs 
shook clear the dozer’s head. “ You mean Bullen? ” 

“Yes, sir. Horned in on our picnic. Two’s com¬ 
pany.” Corveau hobbled into the porch and took a 
seat. “Well, every dog has his day. Say, Mr. 
Jordan, long as I’m going to stay here a while, why 
not make me a regular deputy? You spoke of it 




The China Shop 


157 


yourself, first time we met.” 

“Why, I don’t know, son. You helped all right 
up at Coldwell. But the county pays for only one 
reg’lar deputy.” 

“Nemmind the pay, sir. The county’s giving me 
room, board and improving company. I don’t want 
pay. I’m just hankering for to go get me a boot¬ 
legger.” 

“A man bent on revenge makes a poor peace offi¬ 
cer, son.” 

“’Tisn’t revenge. It — well, I figure Miss Kate 
will thank me if I pull off the deal. Come on! You 
know you need me to round up that gang. Your 
official deputy is all tied up in his own business.” 

“Well, yes, he has got his hands full, what with 
the ranch and the creamery, too. Just the same, 
you’re a bit too ready to shoot.” 

Corveau threw up his hands. 

“ That’s the limit! Pack of skunks like that gang, 
murdering from cover, twiggling their fingers at the 
law, wiping their dirty feet on the Constitution of 
the U. S.! ” 

“ Whew! Best go douse your head in the water 
bucket, Sid. It’s a hot day.” 

The advice failed to cool Corveau’s heat. 

“ I’m no angel. I was fool enough myself to risk 
swilling raw white mule. But the biggest fools are 
the rich fools that sit smug over their cellars of high 



158 


The Two-Gun Man 


grade stuff, stolen or swindled out of government 
bond, or smuggled in from un-American countries.” 

“Hey? As how?” 

“By backing up lawlessness, that’s how. Not 
even a gang like this could get by, if the respectable 
booze drinkers realized they themselves are cast¬ 
ing contempt on the law and acting as accomplices 
of the most damnable criminals in the country. I’ll 
bet Uncle Drake would say the liquor buyers are ac¬ 
cessories in every bootleg robbery, bribery and mur¬ 
der ! ” 

“ By gosh, son! ” exclaimed Jordan. “You make 
me believe I’d like you for a deputy. You go ask 
Judge Drake if it’s agreeable to him.” 

In twenty seconds the flivver was backing down 
the drive. It cleared the gate just in time for the 
maroon car to drive in. Kate called out her ap¬ 
proval : 

“That’s right, Sidney. Doctor Made came home 
as we passed.” 

The maroon car rolled up the drive. Jordan 
stopped mopping his face to greet his prospective 
son-in-law: 

“Glad to see you, Bullen. That’s right — come 
in and be sociable. I want to tell you I’m pleased 
you’re getting friendly with Sid. The boy is set on 
helping us hunt out those dastardly bootleggers.” 

“That so?” 



The China Shop 


159 


“Yes. I’ve agreed to deputize him if Drake has 
no objections. He’s gone to ask him.” 

Lort cleared his throat. 

“Mind getting me a lemonade, Kate? I’ll go in 
with you.” 

Out in the clean-scrubbed kitchen he suddenly 
gripped her by the shoulders. 

“Listen. We’ve been engaged long enough. I 
want you to name the day without any more wait¬ 
ing. A promise to marry is like any other contract. 
The other party has a right to fulfillment within 
a reasonable time. You’ve kept putting me off.” 

“But—but we haven’t even finished the house 
plans, Bullen.” 

“What of that? They’re far enough along for 
us to start work on the foundation. We can make 
do in the old shack—or here, if you’d rather—till 
the new house is built. You don’t think I w T ant to 
crawl out of building it, do you?” 

“Oh, no, indeed no. It’s — it’s only-” 

His fingers tightened on her shoulders with al¬ 
most crushing force. 

“ Only that you’re thinking too much of two-gun 
killers!” 

“ Bullen! ” 

“Needn’t look so holy-saintish. I’ve got eyes. 
You can’t deny you’re interested in the young scoun¬ 
drel.” 




160 


The Two-Gun Man 


“He’s not a scoundrel, Rullen, nor a killer—yet. 
He told father and me all about those four men. 
Every one of them drew first, and with three of 
them he was acting as an officer.” 

“His story! You don’t suppose these up-to-date 
Billy the Kids mind seasoning their murders with a 
few lies, do you?” 

“ I don’t care. I know enough about that sneaky 
storekeeper, and I’ve seen your cross-eyed Al, and 
you said yourself that Lefty confessed to being a 
criminal. I’ll take the word of Sidney against all 
three of them.” 

Lort again tightened his cruel grip. 

“Just what I thought. You’ve fallen for the slick 
skunk. You’re gone on him! ” 

“How dare you? Let go of me!” The blue 
eyes blazed with such wrathful indignation that the 
crushing hands relaxed their grip. Kate wrenched 
herself free. “ You’d better! .... Now I’ll 

answer you. Who’s responsible for Sidney being 
here? You are. He’d have gone right on over to 
the big cattle ranges if you hadn’t arrested him.” 

“That’s not the question. Don’t try to dodge. 
No matter what he is or what I did, the point is, 
you’re gone on him.” 

“ I’m not. It’s simply disgusting your using such 
an expression! If I was, I’d have given you back 
your ring right away. You know I would.” 




The China Shop 


161 


The look of doubt did not leave the greenish gray 
eyes. Kate started to pull off the engagement ring. 

“Hold on,” he protested. “You’re not going to 
prove me right, are you?” 

“Well—” she hesitated— “well, then, you must 
stop this way of doing. I like Sidney, and so does 
father. We’re interested in saving him from be¬ 
coming what you say he is — a killer. Instead of 
being friends with him, the w T ay you promised, you 
keep nagging the poor boy and believing bad against 
him.” 

“How about his jabbing me every chance he 
gets?” 

“ But that’s just it, Bulien. I thought the man I 
promised to marry would always show himself big- 
hearted— generous. Yet right from the first you’ve 
done nothing except pick on and abuse and attack 
Sidney, and-” 

“The poor little white-winged angel!” 

“And with me, too! You’ve shown, you’re show¬ 
ing now, you do not trust me. I gave my promise 
to marry you, yet you doubt everything I do. Oh, 
if I hadn’t promised, I’d never, never, never agree 
now! ” 

Lort’s face went crimson. Jealous passion had 
overheated his usually cold calculating brain. 

“ You’ve proved it! You’re dead gone on him! ” 

Kate pointed to the door. 




162 


The Two-Gun Man 


“You’d better go, before I forget myself and 
throw your ring in your face. I’m trying hard to 
bear in mind you’re too angry to think what you’re 
saying. I will keep the ring now. But you must go 
away and stay away till you can be more reasonable.” 

Lort refused to be turned off. 

“ I asked you to set the date.” 

“No, I’ll not do it. I’ll have nothing at all to 
do with you, Bullen, just as long as you doubt me. 
You called it a contract. Well, I know this much 
about business, a contract is not of much use if the 
parties do not trust each other.” 

“You’ve no reason to distrust me.” 

“As much as you have to doubt me! You see 
how silly you’ve been. No, don’t touch me! I can’t 
bear to have you touch me now! ” 

The cry of fear and repulsion brought Lort up 
short. He swung around and out of the kitchen. 
Kate sank down into a chair and buried her face in 
her hands to hide her tears. 

Lort may never have heard the old saying about 
a bull in a china shop. 



CHAPTER XV 


STACKED CARDS 


C ORVEAU did not return for an hour. Besides 
talking with old Judge Drake, he had dutifully 
taken his leg to the doctor. At the sound of the 
flivver in the drive Kate came into the side porch. 

“ Got a double-barreled cinch on it this time,” he 
sang out to her. “ Doc found only half a dozen or 
so stitches pulled loose. He sewed them up again, 
and hitched it all together with plaster, to boot.” 
“How about Drake?” asked Jordan. 

Though poised to jump from car to porch, Cor- 
veau submissively obeyed Kate’s gesture to wait for 
the support of her shoulder. Her eyes were so 
grave and steady that he did not notice the slight 
flush around them. Dabbing with cold water very 
effectively removes most traces of weeping. 

As she eased him into a porch chair he answered 
her father: 

“Uncle Drake’s white. I don’t wonder he’s a 
perennial, ’stead of a biennial. He’s going to have 
my vote, too, soon’s I get one.” 

“ Meaning, he agreed ’twould be all right for me 
to commission you?” 

“Not you — but Kate.” 

163 







164 


The Two-Gun Man 


“ Katie? I’m the sheriff.” 

“Maybe Uncle Drake figures you’re not alto¬ 
gether ‘it’ inside the family. I suggested he phone 
you and talk it over. He said, ‘Ain’t any need. I’ll 
appoint Katie referee and abide by her decision.’ ” 

“He did, uh? Well, Katie, there’s that old brass 
deputy star in the hack porch, the one I brought 
home to polish, but Bullen got a silver one.” 

Kate did not rush to the back porch. She sat down 
before Corveau and eyed him with deepening grav¬ 
ity. 

“ If Uncle Drake said I was to do the deciding, 
Father, I am not so sure. Sidney is in my charge — 
to be improved.” 

This opening alarmed Corveau. 

“ Oh, now Kate! Is it bad as all that? I told pa 
it ain’t—isn’t — because I wanted to get back at the 
’leggers for my leg. Honest to goodness, it’s not 
revenge a-tall.” 

“I did not think it w r as, Sidney. But — I’m far 
from sure that it’s safe for you.” 

“Not safe?” Corveau chuckled. “Why, once I 
meet-up with that gang, I can shoot heh — shoot the 
heads off ’em all before they can wiggle a finger. 
I’m not bragging. It’s just that I happen to be as 
quick on the draw as-” 

“As Billy the Kid! ” Kate completed the compari¬ 
son. “There’s your danger, Sidney. I don’t mean 




Stacked Cards 


165 


being killed, as all such men are bound to be. But 
it’s you yourself — the certainty of becoming a 
killer.” 

“Why — why, listen, though, Kate. How about 
the low-down thugs that ought to be shot—like 
these sneaky bootleggers that’re spilling their poison 
all around for the sake of the dirty profits they get 
out of it?” 

“Two wrongs don’t make a right, Sidney. The 
only way is to help enforce the laws, and then help 
make better laws.” 

“Ail right. Give me my badge.” 

Kate’s face saddened. 

“ You refuse to understand me! ” 

“ Quien sabe? Sabe Dios, senorita . Tell you 
what, I’ll agree never to shoot unless I have to, and 
if I have, I’ll only wing my birds. That’s more than 
most can promise, unless they expect to come home 
feet foremost.” 

Here at last was something to count on. Kate 
smiled. 

' “You really promise not to shoot to kill, even in 
self-defense, Sidney?” 

Corveau considered this before answering. 

“No’um — yes’um, I mean. I promise.” 

“Then — but about your — your — what you call 
your badman bait — that sombrero and scarlet belt 
and-” 




166 


The Two-Gun Man 


“ Sure. I’ll use the Mex bonnet for a doormat 
and give you the bull-flag to use for your Sunday 
best sash, if only you-” 

“The two Colts,” put in Jordan. “They’re the 
worst.” 

“Everything goes! I agree to pack only one of 
’em — in sight.” 

Kate had still a final condition. 

“You must agree to rest until your wound heals.” 

Though this was hardest of ail, Corveau 
promised. 

As a beginning, he had to stay seated in the porch 
while she took the car to the garage shed. After 
that he was required to wait for her or her father 
to lend a shoulder whenever he moved. 

In the morning Kate motored him into town to 
buy a new hat and borrow a crutch from the doctor 
and get sworn in as a deputy. On the way home she 
stopped at the jail for his cartridge belt and re¬ 
volvers and to make sure that the captured moon¬ 
shine was all safe in its cell. 

That evening old Judge Drake “dropped in” for 
supper. He talked with Corveau while Jordan did 
the chores and Kate cooked. Her decision as referee 
did not seem to surprise him. But he cackled mirth¬ 
fully over her conditions. 

“ Heh-heh-heh ! Le’s see the silver-mounted door¬ 
mat, son.” 




Stacked Cards 


167 


“ It’s being kept for Sunday use only, your honor. 
She has it and the bull-flag. Mex sash all laid away 
in lavender.” 

“Also one of your pair of sixes, heh?” 

“No, sir. I’m still to be a two-gun man; only 
one’s to be packed on the hip and t’other where it 
won’t be seen — till needed.” 

Drake rubbed his polished bald dome. 

“ Katie’s a good girl. What’s more, she’s got a 
deal of sense— Ain’t had a call from Bull today, 
has she?” 

“Saw him streak past. Guess he was going so 
fast he couldn’t stop.” 

“ Shucks! Speeding’s only a misdemeanor. Can’t 
land a whale in a minner net.” 

The shaggy gray eyebrows bushed down over the 
shrewd squinting eyes. 

“ Bull’s no fool> A yellow dog could’ve beat the 
no ’count bunch that was foisted on my ticket last 
’lection. Time was ripe for an upset, anyhow. All 
the same, Bull played mighty smart politics. He 
showed he was able.” 

“Yes, sir—one of the kind that can stack the 
cards as well as put up a good bluff.” 

The old politician spat out into the drive. 

“ Reckon you ain’t such a fool your ownself, son. 
Only you bear in mind, them loud-mouthed kind need 
most watching when they get friendly or keep mum.” 



168 


The Two-Gun Man 


The call to supper cut short the talk. But Cor- 
veau knew that Kate’s decision had won the little 
judge’s approval of him. Otherwise there would 
have been no bestowal of the confidential warning. 
Beyond all doubt, Lort was not a fourflusher. He 
was very able. Yet Corveau would unhesitatingly 
have backed Drake against him in either politics or 
poker. 

In this present play the consummate old strategist 
had been careful not to show his hand. He could 
say he had left the matter of deputizing the prisoner 
entirely to Lort’s sheriff and jailor. None the less, 
Corveau knew that he was being played as one of 
the judge’s high cards. If he failed to win the game, 
it would be no more than a misdeal so far as Drake 
was concerned. If he won, Drake would rake in the 
jackpot. 

At supper the little judge droned with Jordan 
about the beef market and the prospects of a good 
hay crop. The talk drifted around, by way of oats, 
to the new big-paying proposition of mountain head 
lettuce. What more natural than that this should 
bring about a discussion of Stack Falls Ranch, which 
claimed the prize for lettuce raising? 

“No use denying, Bull’s able and right up to date 
on all his undertakings,” admitted Drake. “ Fie 
knows what he’s up to. Take the falls. Some of us 
old-timers still feel sore at him fencing ’em off-” 




Stacked Cards 


169 


u But there’s his lettuce field, right where the up¬ 
per road used to run across to the Stack trail,” said 
Jordan. “ Bullen couldn’t have folks tromping 
through, over his lettuce.” 

“ Same about his shutting off the canon road,” 
agreed Drake. “ It’s his choicest pasture, there be¬ 
low the canon. Katie told me he says folks would 
persist in leaving the gate open. His best blooded 
stock kept getting loose. ’Nother time, some of ’em 
let their dog chase a bunch of cows with calves.” 

“ I saw the gate open once myself, Uncle Drake,” 
said Kate. “Have another cup of coffee.” 

Drake gulped what was left in his cup and reached 
it across the table. 

“Don’t care if I do, Katie. You don’t boil it to 
lye, yet you don’t have to set it ’longside boarding¬ 
house butter to keep it from falling over. Speak¬ 
ing of the falls, it’s too bad Sid can’t get a look at 
’em.” 

“Indeed, yes! Oh, Sidney, if only you could see 
those falls! They’re so beautiful! The canon, too.” 

“ But I know just how you feel, Katie,” sympa¬ 
thized his honor. “You dassn’t take him up, even 
by the caiion road, long as you’ve got Bull mad at 
you. Yet the joke of it is, the string of forties from 
the Stack itself on down the canon never’ve been 
filed on. Bull has corralled ’em betwixt the old 
ranch he foreclosed on and the hundred and sixty 



170 


The Two-Gun Man 


he bought. He don’t own nary falls ner canon.” 

Jordan good-naturedly put in a word for his pro¬ 
spective son-in-law. 

“Who’d want to pay filing fees for those rocks 
and the gulch? Not enough grass to graze a dozen 
head of stock.” 

“Too bad, though, Sid can’t get a look at the 
falls,” repeated Drake. “ But of course Bull has his 
reasons for shutting off the roads. Returning to that 
allegation of some our lettuce being shipped clean 
to Chiny, I seen a statement in a Denver pa- 


Away drifted the talk from Stack Falls and Stack 
Falls Ranch. All evening it failed to come around 
again even to the owner of the ranch. But the next 
day Corveau found himself thinking of those falls. 
Kate had said they were beautiful and had agreed 
with the old judge it was a pity he could not see 
them. Drake was not the kind to mourn over a 
mere waste of scenic beauty. He must have meant 
to hint at something more — something of which he 
had only an inkling or perhaps a bare suspicion. 

Enforced idleness kept Corveau’s thoughts on the 
matter. It milled around in his head with thoughts 
of Lort. Even the Sunday break of church attend¬ 
ance with Kate and her father did not put the falls 
out of his mind. There was nothing diverting about 
the services. Lort failed to appear, and the change 




Stacked Cards 


171 


in the prisoner’s attire dampened the morbid curi¬ 
osity of those church goers who still believed the 
rumors of his murderous badness. 

The new week started in no less tamely. Every 
day the truck that Lort had hired rolled into town, 
always with a guard beside the driver. And every 
day the deputy whirled past iri his maroon car. If 
he happened to meet Jordan down town, he greeted 
him in his usual bluff and hearty manner. But he 
did not stop at the ranch. 

By the fifth day Kate’s indignation over her 
fiance’s absence had heated as near to resentment as 
her nature was capable. She had told him not to 
come back until he trusted her. In view of this, each 
time he passed without stopping was an added in¬ 
sult— a denial that she was trustworthy. 

Corveau at last ventured a suggestion: 

“I can’t get those falls out of my head, Kate. 
Uncle Drake said they’re on the public domain. 
What’s the harm if we take a little pasear up that 
way? ” 

“ You know I can’t, Sidney. I’ll not ask so much 
as a pin from Bullen Lort till he comes to his senses 
and apologizes.” 

“Who said anything about asking? We’ll just 
go and have a nice little picnic up that canon.” 

“ But your hurt? Such a climb-” 

“It’s healed. You know it is, Kate. A little 




172 


The Two-Gun Man 


climb would be just the thing to take out the stiffness. 
You said I ought to see the falls. If they don’t 
belong to Mr. Lort-” 

“ I didn’t know that before. But they don’t if 
Uncle Drake says so. It’s a shame, those lovely 
falls shut off from everybody. It would serve Bul- 
len right. If we ride, your mare can carry you all 
the way up the canon trail.” 

She dutifully told her father she was going with 
Corveau to question the old nester McQuirk, who 
had again come to town in a suspiciously unsteady 
condition. Quite as dutifully, she failed to mention 
that they would return by way of the falls. There 
must be no blame on her father if Bullen saw fit 
to become angered. 

In the first pearling of daybreak she and Corveau 
rode off at a lope. By the direct road up Elk Valley, 
the distance to Stack Falls was only thirteen miles. 
But the nester lived off to the west of the valley, and 
Kate wished to reach the canon before the heat of 
midday. 

Four miles up they branched off along a road 
that wound around and between and over mountain 
spurs. After hours of steady going, in which Cor- 
veau’s black mare proved herself rather better than 
Kate’s plucky pinto, they came to the little mountain 
meadow beside which the nester’s shack squatted in 
a grove of aspens. 




Stacked Cards 


173 


The old man sat before his door on a pile of logs. 
About him was the reek of bad moonshine. But he 
was not fuddled enough to have lost his low cun¬ 
ning. He showed an empty patent medicine bottle, 
and denied all knowledge of bootleg liquor. While 
Kate argued with him, Corveau searched the shack. 
He came out with an empty jug. 

“Old guzzler saw us in time to get outside all 
that was left of the evidence, Kate. Hey, dad, how 
come?” 

The nester slumped back against the side of the 
shack, mumbling something about vinegar. He ap¬ 
peared to sink into a drunken stupor. Kate’s eyes 
darkened with pity. 

“Poor old McQuirk! He always was queer, but 
now they’ve made a sot of him. The wicked devils 1 
Come on, Sidney. No use staying here.” 

She mounted and started off, not along the road, 
but directly eastwards. The nester opened his 
squinted eyes. He called out with drunken gravity: 

“ Gulliesh bad thashway. Break yer necksh.” 

Kate led straight on. She did not look back. The 
last Corveau saw of McQuirk, the drunkard was on 
his feet, gazing after the visitors with a concern that 
seemed to have almost sobered him. 

Yet an hour of brisk riding over the rocky ridges 
failed to open up any dangerous clefts or gullies. 
Kate agreed with Corveau that the nester must have 



174 


The Two-Gun Man 


had a touch of delirium tremens. 

Their horses came blowing to the crest of a higher 
ridge. From the shade of the clustered pines Cor- 
veau’s gaze followed Kate’s gesture down across the 
broken cliffs and tree-filled ravines. It fixed upon 
the pinnacle of red granite that towered up on the 
far side of the canon almost to the level of the high 
ridge crest. At the right base of the pinnacle a sheet 
of burnished silver curved out of the blue spruces to 
plunge into a dark cleft. 

“The Stack and Stack Falls,” said Kate. 

A flash or glitter on the broken top of the great 
thumb of granite caught Corveau’s eye. 

“Any mica in that red stone?” he asked. 

“Yes, in some places. We must slant down to the 
left.” 

The chosen way led under the pines. As Corveau 
followed his leader the bright glint on the Stack top 
disappeared. In Arizona he had seen a bit of glassy 
mineral flash that way in the sun for miles. He had 
also seen mirrors used to signal. 

With much careful footwork, some outright 
slithering on haunches, and an occasional jump from 
a ledge, the horses managed to get down or around 
the upper cliffs into the head of the canon. Here 
the main difficulty was the dense growth of trees 
and brush. Corveau broke the way with his mare. 

They had already reached the upper level of the 



Stacked Cards 


175 


falls. They soon came down around a sharp turn 
to where the white column of water struck the 
blackened ledges in its first hundred-foot drop. At 
the top of the cleft wall the huge red Stack towered 
on up into the sapphire sky, with only a narrow slop¬ 
ing shelf along its base from the falls around to 
the broken rock masses of the canon turn. 

A last jump-off brought the horses down into the 
canon trail where it headed at the pool of the upper 
fall. Gusts of air swirled from the foaming, roaring 
fall, heavy with mist-like spray. After the long 
dry ride, the coolness of this was as delightful as the 
. cold air-bubbling water. 

Her thirst quenched,. Kate moved a few yards 
down-trail to a dry spot under a giant pine. She 
opened up the lunch while Corveau gave the horses 
their feed o£ oats. 

No more ideal place for a picnic could have been 
found. Down canon the creek leaped and tumbled 
in a wild succession of snowy cascades, under red 
cliffs spotted with vivid yellow lichens and emerald 
patches of moss. From between the boulders close 
to the foaming water rose lofty blue spruces. In 
the clefts above clung pines, with root fingers 
clutched fast in every slightest crack of the granite. 
On the steep broken rise behind the picnickers 
bloomed wild flowers — scarlet painter’s brush, the 
three-inch sky-blue stars of mountain columbines, 



176 


The Two-Gun Man 


golden gaillardias, big white daisies. 

Kate feasted her eyes even wdiile she attacked the 
lunch with an appetite as keen as Corveau’s. With 
a look of almost awed delight, she lifted her gaze 
from the foot of the main fall up the wall of the 
cleft and on up the sheer-faced tower of the Stack 
to where its red top thrust like a gigantic thumb 
tip into the blue-crystal bowl of the sky. 

Corveau paused w T ith a quarter-section of pie half 
way to his mouth. 

“Last real game I played, t’other fellow’s stack 
of red chips looked ’most as high as that. A1 and 
Lefty kept shoving their flasks my way. Gig had 

stacked the cards for the bunch.About as 

hard to get atop that stack as this one.” 

Only the last remark reached Kate’s consciousness. 

“Nobody has ever been on top of the Stack, Sid¬ 
ney. It looks just possible on the north side, only 
there’s no chance to get up to the crack.” 

“Suits me,” said Corveau. “I don’t hanker to 
be the goat. Is Mr. Lort’s place close up here, left 
of the Stack?” 

“Oh, no; it’s off to the right — nearly a mile east. 
The creek bends around that way.” 

Corveau still gazed up the boulders and broken 
cliffs of the canon bend to the left base of the Stack. 

“ Why not climb to that shelf and work around the 
top of the falls? ” 




Stacked Cards 


177 


“It’s too dangerous. The shelf slopes, and the 
spray keeps it wet and slippery. But there’s my 
secret cave.” 

“Cave?” 

“Yes. I found it up there all by myself, years 
ago, and I never told anyone, not even Father. You 
know how children are.” 

“ Sure! Pirates and pandits and Apaches,” agreed 
Corveau. He gave a hitch to the holster on his hip. 
“ Let’s go and play Border smugglers or some¬ 
thing. You can be the beaucheous Sehorita Cather¬ 
ine de Jordona that I’m rescuing from the desperado 
Don Bullo de los Bootleggeros.” 

Kate’s color deepened. 

“ Please, Sidney. I don’t like you to speak that 
way even in fun.” 

“Well, then, let’s go up, and leave him out of it.” 

“Not now — not this time. You see how steep 
and dangerous it is, and your leg is still too weak for 
climbing. Besides, it’s time we started home.” 



CHAPTER XVI 


COOKED UP AND DOCTORED 

ASIDE from a few horse and cattle prints, the 
Jl\. trail showed no signs of use. But the rested 
pinto and black made their way down the steepest 
places without difficulty. After half a mile the box 
canon suddenly flared wide in a grassy valley. 

Corveau slued about in his saddle to stare back. 
The top of the Stack peeped above the intervening 
cliffs. He looked for the glittering point of light 
that he had seen from the westward ridge crest. 
The granite thumb tip stood out against the blue 
with no slightest glint or sparkle on its blood-red 
top. 

A mile down valley, along the trackless road, 
brought the riders to Lort’s padlocked gate. With 
his wire nippers Corveau pulled enough staples to 
let the horses through the fence. He carefully 
fastened the wires up again. 

The Stack had been looming up higher and higher 
above the cliffs of the lower canon. As he jogged 
on with Kate, Corveau found several occasions to 
gaze over his shoulder before a bend of the valley 
shut off all view of the pinnacle. But not even a 
momentary flash or glitter did he see. 


Cooked Up and Doctored 


179 


“ I’ll caw about not wanting to climb the Stack,” 
he said. “ It would be a grand view from the top 
with a pair of field glasses.” 

“The watch tower of the ogre’s castle!” replied 
Kate. “That’s what I used to make believe it was. 
But nobody can ever climb it.” 

Corveau bent to pat.the black neck of his mare. 

“ Some goer, this filly. I couldn’t ask for a better 
one if ever I have occasion to back a dark horse. 
You couldn’t see her ten feet off by starlight. She’s 
a regular nightmare.” 

Kate’s laugh ended with a half serious protest: 

“That’s an awful thing to call a gentle pet like 
her.” 

“You’re right,” admitted Corveau. “That little 
white star on her forehead turns the nightmare into 
happy dreams — my happy dreams. I’m hoping 
they’ll come true.” 

Instead of reproaching him for silliness, Kate put 
her pinto into a lope. 

Half way to town the maroon car swooped upon 
them from behind. Kate had taken off her gauntlets 
to tuck up the loose tresses of her wavy brown hair. 
The big diamond of her engagement ring sparkled 
in the sun. Lort slowed up alongside the horses and 
called out a cordial greeting: 

“Well met, Kate! You look like you’ve had a 
good ride.” 



180 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Yes. Another try at McQuirk; then we cut 
across to the falls.” 

Lort’s face showed neither anger nor surprise. 

“That’s right. Glad to have Sid see the sights 
before he leaves. You must be tired. Hop aboard. 
Sid will lead your pinto.” 

Car and horses came to a halt. Kate gravely eyed 
her smiling ruddy-faced fiance. 

“ Does this mean you’ve stopped distrusting me, 
Bullen? ” 

“What else? The other day I must have been 
eating too much fried stuff — like that hayseed who 
old Drake sent packing with his wife. Foolish of 
me to get hot under the collar. I’d have dropped in 
next morning and apologized, but I thought I could 
do it in a way you’d like better. I’ve been laying 
for that bootleg gang.” 

“Oh, Bullen! And I thought you were only — 
But about those wicked men? Have you learned 
anything?” 

“That was just what I was going to N ask you 
two,” replied Lort. He stared at Corveau. “ I 
think I have what those detective stories call a clue. 
How about you and Sid?” 

“We found two clues at McQuirk’s,” said Cor¬ 
veau. “ Only trouble, neither panned out. The jug 
was too empty and McQuirk too full.” 

“Nothing else?” 





Cooked ZJp and Doctored 


181 


“Not a thing, Bullen. It’s so discouraging! But 
the falls made the ride worth while. They seemed 
more beautiful than ever. Couldn’t you rig up some 
kind of self-closing gate, so people could go in with¬ 
out your stock getting out?” 

The intent gaze of Lort’s narrowed eyes shifted 
back to Corveau. 

“Well, I don’t know, Kate. There’s the question 
of dogs, also. I’m too busy just now, anyhow, to 
attend to other matters. Tell you what. After this 
bootleg bunch is broken up and — we’re married we 
might figure out a way to make the falls pay.” 

“Pay?” 

“Yes. There’ll be swarms of tourists round here 
by next season. We could make it a dollar a car 
gate entrance, and sell the refreshment concessions 
at the falls. Maybe build a dance pavilion.” 

Kate had slipped down off her horse. But as 
Lort thrust open the car door for her she stepped 
around and swung back into her saddle. 

“ Come to think, Bullen, I hardly believe this pinto 
leads very well. We’ll see you later.” 

The purring engine roared with the inclash of the 
clutch. The big car seemed fairly to leap down the 
road. Corveau gazed amusedly at the upswirling 
cloud of dust. 

“Oh, Sidney! ” Kate’s eyes were dark with hurt 
and indignation. “Think of it! A dance pavilion 
— there — at the falls! Popcorn and candy! Bot- 





182 


Tke Two-Gun Man 


ties and paper plates and tin cans scattered all 
around among the rocks and trees and flowers! 
People tossing peanut shells into the cascades and 
rooting up the flowers and ferns! ” 

Corveau looked mildly surprised. 

“What else could you expect? Ain’t — isn’t — 
that the way most tourists believe in civilizing the 
Wild? Besides, there’s the gate money. What do 
a few tin cans count ’longside a dollar?” 

“You wouldn’t throw rubbish around. I know 
you wouldn’t! ” 

Virtue shone triumphant on Corveau’s face. 

“No’um. I always leave that to the cook of the 
outfit.” 

“Sidney! It’s — it’s no joke to me.” 

“Nor to me.” White rims showed in Corveau’s 
eyes. He squinted the lids together and forced up 
the corners of his thin-drawn lips. “ Don’t you fret 
about the dance hall and peanuts. I’ll rope and 
hog-tie the proposition for you.” 

“But how? If Bullen insists-” 

“Well, one way would be for me to file on the 
canon — homestead it.” 

“ That would make Bullen very angry.” 

“ Yes. He’d lose the gate and concessions money. 
I’ll ask you to forget I spoke of filing. I mayn’t do 
it. But if I try to, I don’t want him shoving in a 
dummy entryman ahead of me.” 






Cooked Up and Doctored 


183 


“ You’ve made it a confidence, Sidney. So I have 
no right to tell him. And I can keep a secret. No 
one ever knew about my cave until I told you to¬ 
day.” 

“Let’s call it ours, Kate — tell no one else till 
after I see it.” 

“All right. We’ll go up again soon. Bullen 
didn’t seem to mind.” 

Corveau nodded. He had been particularly struck 
by Lort’s failure to show any displeasure over their 
visit to the falls. This may have been due to his 
gratification at seeing his ring still on Kate’s finger, 
or to his wish to mollify her. But there had also 
been his total lack of surprise.If not sur¬ 

prised, why not? .... And how about his 
keenness to learn whether they had found any clues? 

A song bubbled up in Corveau’s throat, a lilting 
carefree rollicking ballad of the old cattle trails. He 
was happy. What more could a man ask for? Here 
was Kate jogging along with him like a regular pard, 
and ahead — close ahead — he saw action, real fire¬ 
works. 

But near the Jordan ranch his mare threw a shoe. 
Jake, the garage man, did horseshoeing on the side. 
Corveau found him up to his big ears in grease on 
a rush-order automobile job. He could not, or 
would not, stop off to shoe the mare. There was no 
other blacksmith in Elk. Corveau had to walk the 




184 


The Two-Gun Man 


mare back to the ranch and put off his intended night 
ride. 

Lort stopped by on his way out of town and 
apologized to Kate for his brusque leave-taking on 
the road. 

“It’s sure a case of Jed and Mirandy,” he said. 
“ I’ve got the dyspepsy from too much fried cook¬ 
ing.” 

“Wouldn’t have thought that of Al,” replied Cor- 
veau. “Always figured he didn’t fry half enough.” 

But of course Kate had to ask Lort to supper, and 
of course he stayed on for the evening. Worst of all, 
he kept up his show of hearty whole-souled friendli¬ 
ness. Corveau went to bed with white rims under 
his irises. 

At sunrise Jake phoned that he could shoe the 
mare two hours later. When Corveau walked her 
in to the garage, Jake advised re-shoeing her all 
around. He was on the last shoe when a stranger 
came jogging from out of town. 

The man rode a flat English saddle and wore 
“dude” riding togs. Still more amusing to a cow¬ 
boy, he rose to the trot of his horse in Eastern style. 
Corveau could not keep the quirk from his lips. 

The rider stared back at him through big dark- 
tinted shell spectacles and stopped close before the 
open smithy shed. He put a yellow-gloved hand to 
his neat Vandyke beard. 




Cooked Up and Doctored ■ 


185 


“ Pardon me. I am looking for a Mr. Corveau — 
Mr. Kid Corveau, the two-gun man. At Sheriff 
Jordan’s ranch I was told--” 

“Spill it,” invited Corveau. “I’m your bird.” 

With the mare’s hoof between his knees, Jake had 
paused to stare up at the stranger. The man lifted 
his eyebrows to Corveau and shot a furtive glance in 
the direction of Jake. 

“Ah — a matter of private business, Mr. Corveau. 
If you can favor me with a moment aside.” 

As the man had come from the Jordans, Corveau 
thought he might be a federal prohibition agent in¬ 
terested in running down the bootleg gang. He 
started across the road. Behind his back Jake’s face 
twisted in an oil-smeared grin. The lid of one small 
eye drew down. The stranger appeared to see 
neither wink nor grin. He stroked his small mus¬ 
tache as he reined his horse around. 

Over in the shade of an undercut spruce Corveau 
turned on the rider. 

“Well, shake it out. What you got up your 
sleeve, the ace or the deuce?” 

“ It was just as well not to advertise the matter, 
Mr. Corveau. The boss doesn’t want a bunch of 
gazebos rubbernecking round the cameras.” 

“Boss?” 

“The director, that motion picture boss, you 
know. Pie’s pulling off a piece of wild and woolly 




186 


The Two-Gun Man 


gun-play; wants you to do some of your two-gun 
work. Remember? He took your name last week, 
down at the old mine.” 

“Nothing doing,” said Corveau. “I’m no Bill 
Mix.” 

“You’re not wanted to act, only to make a show¬ 
ing in the bunch with that two-gun outfit of yours. 
There’s a twenty in it for you, all for no more than 
half an hour’s work.” 

Corveau’s eyes narrowed. 

“Too much bacon for a shilling. If you had 
said, two bucks an hour. But twenty for half an 
hour! Looks phony, like your whiskers.” 

The man put a nervous hand to his Vandyke. 

“Of course they’re fake — mustache, too. I’m 
made up to play the role of a doctor. About that 
twenty, if you don’t care to grab off a little easy 
money, I’m willing to trim it to twenty cents for you. 
Only the boss figures it’s worth the two tens having 
a real two-sixes guy in the picture.” 

“Well, if he’s so anxious to peel his roll. But 
I’ll have to go ask Miss Jordan-” 

“Phone her,” urged the man. He jerked out an 
ornate jeweled watch. 

“ Nope. No use phoning. She has my trimmings. 
Thought you said your boss wants the layout.” 

“ He does. I’ll ride up and get them while you’re 
waiting for your horse. Phone the girl I’m coming. 

\ 




Cooked Up and Doctored 


187 


We haven’t any time to spare.” 

“Trot along,” said Corveau. 

“Vandyke” spurred his horse and loped off up 
the road. Corveau sauntered across to the smithy 
shed at the side of the garage and eyed Jake’s slow 
filing of the cut nails on the mare’s fourth hoof. 

“You’ve done that side already,” he remarked. 
“Too much is enough for a busy flivver wrangler. 
Also, Whiskers is in a hurry. I’ll pay you later.” 

Jake looked doubtful. He did not let down the 
mare’s hoof until Corveau untied the bridle reins to 
back her from the shed. As she loped away with 
her rider the garage man hurried to his telephone 
and called for the Slack Falls Ranch. 

Near the town limits Corveau overtook his hirer, 
who had slowed his horse to a walk. He met the 
man’s frown of annoyance with a bland smile. 

“How about that rush order, doc?” 

Out came the jeweled watch. 

“ We have a half hour more than I thought.” 

“All right, Mr. Fake Whiskers. Only here’s 
something for you to chew on. I’m going to be 
packing my pair of sixes. That’s my favorite bet¬ 
ting hand. If I sit into a game and find the cards 
stacked on me, I usually get the nearest fellow first.” 

The small area of the man’s face that showed be¬ 
tween his dark glasses and false whiskers turned 
sallow gray. 



188 


The Two-Gun Man 


“ You — you tell that to the boss. I’m not looking 
for trouble from any two-gun man.” 

Corveau let it go at that. But he blandly in¬ 
sisted that his companion should come up the ranch 
drive. 

Jordan laughed until his sides shook at the idea 
of Corveau “busting into the movies.” Kate was 
far other than amused. 

“ I heard that the picture company had gone.” 

“ They have, miss,” replied Vandyke. “ But some 
of the actors came back to do this today.” 

“Oh, they have? I wish they’d stay away for 
good.” Kate turned to Corveau. “Perhaps they 
want to picture you in one of those horrid saloon 
fights, Sidney. I’ll never agree to-” 


“No, miss,” interrupted Vandyke, “not a saloon. 
It’s outdoors.” 

“Well, then. But those actresses — all paint and 
bold eyes! ” 

“Not them, either, miss. They’re gone, 
only the men. All gun-play action.” 

Fully satisfied, Kate brought out Corveau’s scarlet 
sash and silver-banded sombrero, and helped adjust 
the two holsters to the front of his cartridge belt 
The bewildering swiftness with which Corveau 
flipped his forty-fives in and out of the holsters made 
the stranger flinch. He hastened to lead off down 
the drive. 







Cooked Up and Doctored 


189 


The trotting horses soon neared Jake’s garage. 
As they passed by, “Vandyke” slowed just enough 
to glance around behind Corveau’s back. Jake 
stepped into the doorway of the garage and jerked 
his hand in a sign to hasten. The man spurred his 
horse into a lope. 

The riders had no more than cleared the main 
street of Elk and turned off down-river on the old 
disused pioneer road, when Jake drove into the busi¬ 
ness section. He stopped before the town hall and 
the postoffice to ask the loungers what they thought 
of that two-gun killer going off fully armed with a 
stranger who looked to be disguised. 



CHAPTER XVII 


THE JESSE JAMES ACT 

O UTSIDE town “Vandyke” held the pace to 
a steady lope. He neither spoke nor looked 
at Corveau all the way down-river to the old silver 
mine. He rode past the mine to the foot of the 
hill. 

On the steep grade the horses slowed to a walk. 
Corveau glanced back at the deserted mill and mine 
buildings. 

“What’s the idea? That’s the picture place.” 
“Not for this action today. We’re going to 
what’s called a location. You never saw a movie 
all in one place, did you? ” 

True enough. Corveau slouched in his saddle. 
Come to think, there had been a dude doc something 
like this one, that day the picture boss wrote down 
his name. This fellow had not tried to hide that 
his whiskers were phony. All the actors — all ex¬ 
cept that pretty little girl with curls — had looked 
nervous, too, when he rolled the cans. This bird did 
not have nerve enough to lead him into an ambush. 

. . After all, it looked like a straight deal. 

As for the twenty-dollar offer, the picture boss had 
been shown the difference between real gun-play and 

190 


The Jesse James Act 


191 


the imitation article. It might be worth all that 
money to him to get it in a picture. 

Up over the hill walked the sweat-lathered horses. 
At the top “Vandyke” looked at his watch, and 
allowed the animals to walk all the way across and 
down slope. At Fish Creek, Corveau smilingly eyed 
the black fire hole where Kate had fried the trout. 
In spite of Lort, that had been a real picnic. 

Fie made ready to dismount at the bridge. But 
his companion rode across the rotten planks, keeping 
above one of the log stringers. Corveau followed. 
On beyond, opposite the near end of the break to 
the river, a pale-faced man in ordinary city clothes 
sat waiting on the running board of a mud-splashed 
flivver. Fie rose with an impatient frown as the 
riders drew up before him. “Vandyke” jerked out 
an introduction: 

“Here’s the two-gun kid, Mr. Jones.” 

“ It’s high time,” snapped Jones. “ Beat it. Take 
your position.” 

Vandyke spurred off along the road at a gallop. 

“Where’s the boss?” asked Corveau. 

“What?” 

“The boss — the one you call the director.” 

“ I’m assistant director. He’s down with the 
boys, arranging the act.” 

“ So ? Just what’s the game ? I don’t always play 
sight-unseen.” 



192 


The Two-Gun Man 


The assistant director scowled. 

“ That worthless fish! Didn’t he tell you ? We’re 
shooting a Jesse James holdup.” 

“Shooting?” 

“Yeah, gunning it — screening it — photograph¬ 
ing it for our movie picture. See?” 

“ I savvy. One those stagecoach, road-agent 
plays. Want me to shoot off the driver’s hat?” 

Jones drew a handful of forty-five blank cartridges 
from his pocket. 

“Stagecoach? That’s old stuff. We’re going to 
pull off a real show. Arranged with the railroad to 
gun — photograph — a fake holdup of the train. 
It’s costing us a thousand bucks. But it will be 
worth a mint. Picture to yourself how it’ll look on 
the screen — canon, river, cliffs, train, big bunch of 
actor bandits with four-gallon hats, masks and pop¬ 
ping pistols.” 

“ Sure. Only le’s have a look at the outfit before 
I load up with blanks.” 

Back went the cartridges into Jones’ pocket. Out 
came a big roll of bank notes. 

“No need to reload, kid. A dead shot like you 
can be trusted to shoot to miss. But our regular 
actors .... we have to make them use 
blanks. Same with the bunch on the train. They’re 
all fixed to fire back. If it w T asn’t for the blanks, 
some of them who keel over for the cameras might 



The Jesse James Act 


193 


do it without acting.” 

Corveau nodded. 

“You’re wise. As for me, I’ll leave well enough 
alone. I might get to aiming where they are if I 
used blanks. Just supposing, then, I happened to 
slip in my own ammunition when reloading?” 

“ Suit yourself, kid.” Jones snapped the rubber 
band on the roll of bank notes. “ I’m paymaster, 
as well as assistant director. Want your twenty 
now?” 

“Not till I earn it.” 

“That’s talking. You’re the real goods, Cor¬ 
veau.” Back went the roll; out came a flat little 
watch. “If she’s on time-” 

Down among the trees in the break a pistol 
cracked sharply. 

“ Huh! She’s ahead of time! Come on! Leave 
your horse. We’ll have to run for it.” 

The last of Corveau’s lingering suspicion van 
ished. The assistant director had dashed off with¬ 
out a backward glance to see if he was following. 
He ran after him to the top of the break. 

Below, at the foot of the slope, he saw men 
crouched in the bushes near the railroad track. At 
the up-stream end of the break a dead tree lay 
across the track as if it had fallen from the end of 
the cliff. The train, rounding the curve below* 
would just have time to stop before hitting it. 


4 




194 ' 


The Two-Gun Man 


Midway down the break two men stood behind 
a big bush with a black box on a tripod. Corveau 
recalled the movie camera over at the old mine. 
This one seemed to be very well placed to picture 
all of the fake train holdup. He had no time to 
look twice at the thing. Jones was already slither¬ 
ing down the sharp descent. He chased after him. 

Near the bottom Jones halted beside a big pine 
and motioned towards the nearest man below. 

“Jump to it, kid! Flatten down and tie your 
kerchief over your nose. Don’t get nervous if 
the boys touch off a piece of noise under the express 
car. We’ve got a lot of fake mail pouches aboard. 
You’re to help razz the messenger. See? He’s to 
fake a fight and get— There she comes! Beat 
it!” 

Above the cliffs of the lower curve Corveau saw 
a puff of black smoke. He bounded down the last 
few feet of slope and dropped behind a bush. The 
face of the wild and woolly bandit nearest him was 
muffled to the eyes in a red bandana. Corveau 
hastily tied up his own neckerchief, to the tune of 
the train’s car wheels shrilling around the lower 
curve. 

He heard the grind of the brakes — the loud 
hiss of steam. The engine rolled slowly past him. 
Through the foliage of his bush he saw the en¬ 
gineer staring ahead at the tree on the track. Still 



The Jesse James Act 


195 


more slowly the tender passed. Then came the 
express car. 

The express messenger stood in the wide-open 
side door, peering ahead, like the engineer, as if 
to see why the train had slowed down. Corveau 
grinned at the naturalness of the young fellow’s 
acting. All along the train car windows were slam¬ 
ming open and heads popping out to stare. It 
would look just like a real train robbery. 

Up the slope cracked a pistol — the signal! In¬ 
stantly all the bold bad Wild West bandits jumped 
out of covert, to yell and blaze away with their 
guns. The one nearest Corveau did not fire. Fie 
ran straight towards the gaping express messenger, 
with a sawed-off shotgun at his shoulder. 

“ Stick up! ” he yelled. “ Stick up! ” 

The messenger dodged sideways out of sight. 
The shotgun roared. A moment later the mes¬ 
senger popped back into view, with a heavy auto¬ 
matic out-thrust. He fired down at the bandit, 
whose pumpgun seemed to have jammed. The fel¬ 
low yelled and flung himself forward, down under 
the car. 

Corveau had jumped out beside the first attacker. 
Others were running towards him from each side. 
He fired over the messenger’s head. The big auto¬ 
matic jabbed out at him. With its roar he felt 
something zipp across the top of his shoulder. 





196 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Look out, you fool!” he warned. “That 
thing’s loaded.” 

The messenger’s face was white; his eyes were 
glaring. Even as Corveau cried out at him, he 
fired again. Corveau felt the wind of the bullet 
on his left ear. This was too much. He jumped 
sideways and shot the automatic out of the mes¬ 
senger’s hand. As it whirled back into the car, 
the messenger swayed and crumpled, exactly as if 
the bullet had hit him in the breast. 

A powerful hand grasped Corveau’s arm and 
jerked him towards the head of the train. A thick 
voice mumbled in his ear: 

“That’ll do here, kid. Go get the engine crew.” 

Not in a long time had Corveau shared such fun. 
He ran to where the fireman and engineer stood 
gaping from the side of the cab at the wild uproar 
of the bandit?. A flourish of his two Colts sent 
their hands high overhead. He swung past far 
enough to keep half an eye on them while looking 
back at the “fireworks.” 

The actors at the express car had scrambled 
aboard and were flinging out mail pouches. Others 
were running forward — all except guards, who 
kept banging away with automatics and pumpguns. 
All heads had disappeared from the car windows. 
Each masked man who came sprinting to the ex¬ 
press car slung a mail pouch on his shoulder and 



The Jesse James Act 


197 


scrambled away up the steep slope. 

Above the uproar of the shots and the yells of 
the bandits Coryeau thought he heard screams. 
But he could not be sure. The engine was shriek¬ 
ing off steam close behind him. No doubt some 
passengers were on the train, as well as the movie 
actors. With such a racket, the women might be 
expected to scream, no matter how fully they had 
been prepared for the sham holdup. 

The ride from town had made Corveau thirsty. 
He stepped around with his back to the lively scene 
and pulled down his neckerchief to wipe his per¬ 
spiring face. 

“ I say, buddy,” he called up to the fireman. 
“Slip back and get me a drink, will you? This 
picture action is dry work. Go on. It won’t show, 
you being behind your boss— Wait. I’ll take 
a pop over your head. You can drop back as if 
I’d given you yours.” 

At the roar of the forty-five the fireman ducked 
out of sight. Corveau waited expectantly. No 
drink appeared. 

“Hey, buddy,” he called. “Step lively. Pic¬ 
ture or no picture, I want a drink. Not going to 
make me come up for it, are you?” 

“ Don’t shoot,” protested the grim-faced en¬ 
gineer. “Jim’s just scared stiff. He’s gun-shy. 
Got shot when he was a little shaver. Stick the 



198 


The Two-Gun Man 


can down ’longside my feet, Jim.” 

After a moment a can thrust into view, shaking 
so violently that the water slopped over the brim. 
Corveau pushed back his hat and drank deep. 

Muchas gracias, amigo!” 

A slight change in the engineer’s scowl sent Cor- 
veau’s glance darting around. The two men who 
had been in the express car were clambering up- 
slope after the pouch carriers. So also were the 
car guards, though each whirled face about, every 
few steps, to fire down at the train. Corveau 
shoved the -water can back beside the engineer’s 
feet. 

“My ante! The action’s ’most over. Time I 
was moving, or it’ll show up funny in the picture. 
Sure has been one grand little piece of fireworks. 
Looked like the real thing all right. Well, adios!” 

He jerked his neckerchief back on his nose and 
dashed straight up the slope. When shortness of 
breath compelled him to stop he peered across the 
break and saw that the camera had been taken 
away. Perhaps it had been shifted to shoot an¬ 
other scene. If so and if the director wanted him 
again, the bunch could wait. He took the rest of 
the climb at a moderate pace. 

Near the top he paused to look down at the train. 
People were pouring out of every vestibule. There 
was already quite a crowd around the open door of 



The Jesse James Act 


199 


the express car. Eight or ten men were working 
at the fallen tree, trying to heave it over into the 
river. 

The sharp voice of the assistant director called 
down irritably: 

“ Shake a leg, kid. Can’t wait here all day. 
Come and get it.” 

Corveau hastened up the last few yards of steep 
ascent. Behind a thicket that shut off all view of 
the train he found Jones waiting with his mare. 
The man thrust at him a twenty-dollar bank note 
and a long sealed envelope. 

“ Here’s your pay and a little bonus,” he said. 
“ You did better than the boss expected. May want 
you again soon. Can’t stop now. Must hurry to 
another location. Have to have the sun, y’know, 
to take good pictures.” 



CHAPTER XVIII 


judge lynches court 


C ORVEAU pocketed the bank note and stared 
at the big fat envelope. It was sealed and 
without a word or mark of any kind. He turned 
to ask Jones about it. The assistant director was 
hastening away through the thicket. 

The mare started to angle off to the left, towards 
Fish Creek. Jones had left the reins on her neck, 
instead of dropping them on the ground, cowboy 
fashion. Corveau had no fancy to walk home. He 
thrust the sealed envelope inside his shirt and cir¬ 
cled to head off the mare. 

Over at the road a quickly started flivver clat¬ 
tered and roared. These movie folks sure did 

things on the jump.As he mounted, the 

bell of the train engine began to clang. Above the 
top of the thicket he saw the passengers scrambling 
back aboard the cars. The tree had been pried 
over into the river. 

He walked the mare to the creek gorge, petting 
and soothing her. The shooting had made her 
nervous. A side-jump on the rotten bridge would 
be no fun. Coming the other way, she had fol¬ 
lowed Vandyke’s horse across without hesitation. 
200 


Judge Lynch's Court 


201 


But now, without a leader and still quivering and 
high-strung, she shied and refused to cross. 

On the picnic Corveau had learned that the old 
road slanted in from the river and intersected the 
new state highway. But to return home in that 
roundabout manner would add three or four miles 
to the trip. He unsaddled the mare, let her roll, 
and gave her a good rub-down with coarse grass. 

This partly quieted her nerves. After a little 
more petting and soothing, she took the bridge. 
They cantered uphill and over to the head of the 
grade above the mine. From there Corveau 
glimpsed the smoke of the train far up the river. 

As he came down to the mine he was beginning 
to think of his missed noon meal. Without urg¬ 
ing the mare, he gave her free rein. She at once 
swung off along the river road at a sharp lope. No 
more prances and skittishness for her, and no more 
nonsense. She was homeward bound. 

All this time her jumpiness had kept Corveau’s 
attention from the sealed envelope. He felt at it 
through his shirt and decided to open it as soon as 
the mafe came down to a walk. But this did not 
happen until, after loping for miles, they struck the 
one stiffish hill on the road. 

By this time the idea had occurred to Corveau 
that it would be fun to leave the “bonus” as a 
surprise for Kate. The envelope was nearly a 





202 


The Two-Gun Man 


quarter-inch thick. So much money, even in dol¬ 
lar bills, was unthinkable. More probably, the 
contents were advertisements of the movie com¬ 
pany. But what a joke on Kate if that little actress 
had sent him her picture! 

Two miles below Elk he noticed an old trail that 
cut across towards the Jordan ranch. Kate did not 
like him to parade around town in his badman-bait 
outfit, and the short-cut would save half a mile or 
more. He struck into it. 

The trail ran into a draw that led up to a dis¬ 
used wire gate which he had mended on the first 
day of his fence-riding. He hooked it up behind 
him and rode over the ridge. A quarter-mile 
brought him down to the barn and corral. He un¬ 
saddled and walked across to the house. 

At the side porch he saw the all-too-familiar big 
maroon car. In accordance with range etiquette, 
he took off his belt and guns before going into the 
kitchen. Had he been a stranger, he would have 
hung them up in the back porch. But this was his 
home, at least for the time being, and he wished to 
return the weapons to Kate, along with the som¬ 
brero and scarlet sash. 

Through the thin panels of the door into the 
dining-room he heard the gruff rumble of Lort’s 
voice. He opened the door and stepped in, jaunt¬ 
ily swinging the belt and holstered revolvers. 



Judge Lynch’s Court _ 203 

“Here you are, Kate,” he sang out. “Here’s 
your woolly Wild West train bandit, safe home 
again, with no more than a ripped shirt shoulder 
from a fool actor who didn’t know his gun was 
loaded. It sure was some show. If only you’d 
come along—-—” 

The look of horrified warning in Kate’s face 
brought his glance around past her staring father. 
Lort stood with his automatic drawn and aimed. 
He let out a roar that shook the room: 

“Drop ’em! Hands up!” 

Corveau let go his cartridge belt and jerked his 
hands above his head. This was not the first time 
he had faced a look like that cold glare in the depu¬ 
ty’s green eyes. It told of an intense eagerness 
for him to make a break, however slight, that could 
be twisted into an excuse for shooting. 

He stood stock still — astonished, puzzled, but 
too wary even to cry out a protest or demand an 
explanation. He did not shift his gaze away from 
Lort’s deadly eyes for so much as an instant’s glance 
at Kate. But her sharp breathing signalled her 
distress. The creak of a chair said as plainly as 
words that her father was heaving up his bulk to 
get on his feet. 

Lort growled another command: 

“ Shift along the wall to the left. . . . farther 
on, into the corner. Now turn your back— No, 





20-1 


The Two-Gun Man 


Kate, you keep away— Mr. Jordan, pick up his 
guns.” 

The floor jarred under Jordan’s heavy tread. As 
he grunted, the cartridges in the belt rattled on the 
worn doorsill. The frame kitchen was an addition 
built on the original log ranch house. With an¬ 
other grunt, the portly sheriff straightened up. He 
spoke in a voice heavy with regret but none the less 
firm: 

“Want me to put the irons on him, Bullen?” 

“No. That’s my job.” 

Had Lort said it was his “gloat” the remark 
would have exactly fitted his tone. After a mo¬ 
ment’s pause, Corveau heard his tread, almost as 
weighty as Jordan’s but vibrant with strength and 
resiliency. 

The pistol muzzle shoved hard against the base 
of Corveau’s skull, forcing his face tight into the 
corner of the walls. He felt the touch of warm 
metal against his upraised wrists. A sharp snap — 
then another. He was handcuffed. 

Lort’s left hand came down his arms. It felt 
under his armpits, felt all around his body. Down 
near his sash girdle it touched the sealed envelope 
through his shirt, patted it, and searched on. It 
felt in the folds of the girdle with particular care, 
not once but twice, and still a third time. Then it 
searched on down to his boots and in the boots. 



Judge Lynch’s Court 


205 


With a stifled oath, the searcher clutched Cor- 
veau’s shoulder and jerked him face about. The 
pistol muzzle jammed against the scarlet girdle; the 
green eyes blazed close into Corveau’s face with a 
glare like that of a puma that has missed its leap. 

“You slick snake! Where’s the gun Dorcy 
slipped you, the day you went for Jordan’s calves?” 

Corveau permitted himself a ghost of a smile. 

“Ever hear of an automatic salad? You’ll re¬ 
member how I stood with my back to the truck and 
my arms spread up against the crates. Knew I’d 
be frisked, so I shoved the little gun into one your 
head lettuces.” 

“You’re lying!” 

“Have it your own way. I never contradict a 
gent whose gun is where my noon meal ought to be. 
You might see if I’ve got that little automatic hid in 
my golden locks. That’s the only place you and pa 
both failed to look.” 

Kate thrust in between the two. 

“Wait, Bullen. You have no right to tell him 
he lies, when he’s a helpless prisoner. Sidney, we 
must know about that pistol. Tell me the truth.” 

“You’ve heard it,” replied Corveau, his lips 
tightening. He looked unflinchingly into her dis¬ 
tress-clouded eyes. 

“I used only that piece of pipe on Lefty—from 
behind. Never once pulled the little gun. Kept 



206 


The Two-Gun Man 


it in my bull-flag all the time. When this — uh — 
Mr. Lort — came, you and your pa looked towards 
his car. I pulled the gun and shoved it up into a 
head lettuce, just as I said. It’s the truth, only may¬ 
be it went in between two lettuces.” 

Lort jerked his thumb at Jordan. 

“Are you sure about your frisking him that day, 
dead sure?” 

“Yes. I went all over him. You saw me.” 

The big automatic left Corveau’s waist to jerk 
up into his face. The muzzle tapped menacingly 
against his nose. 

“Cough up! Where’s that gun now?” 

“ Oh, my! What if one those dude salad eaters 
swallowed it whole? But I don’t think he could 
have done that. Honest, I don’t.” 

Lort went crimson. He whirled the pistol around 
and held the butt ready to smash the mocker’s sandy 
head. 

“Talk sense, or I’ll knock your brains out.” 

“All right. Here it is straight: The gun was in 
the crate that Lefty took the jug from. Kate and 
her pa both can tell you I drove the truck to the 
town hall and didn’t touch the crates all the way. 
Same at the jail. They unloaded the bootleg and 
I carried it in. Then we drove to the creamery. 
Your men there took off the crates and cans. I kept 
on the driver’s seat all the time. If you doubt 



Judge Lynch’s Court 


207 


Kate’s word, too, phone and ask your men.” 

The deadly glare in Lort’s eyes lessened, only to 
change into the cold glitter of exultance. 

“ Lying or not, it’s all one now. I’ve nailed you 
this time. Come along, and mind, no funny busi¬ 
ness.” 

“ Meek as a lamb,” murmured Corveau. “ ’By, 
Kate. I don’t know whyfor nor where, but I’m 
on my way. Not but what I know where he’d like 
it to be. He can plead self-defense, because neither 
he nor pa looked in my hair. That’s where I’ll be 
pulling the little gun from when he shoots me in 
self-defense.” 

“ Don’t you worry about that, kiddo,” said Lort. 
“ I’ll a great deal rather see you sent up for life, if 
you manage to dodge the noose.” 

Kate again thrust in between them. 

“ Bad as he is, Bullen, an officer has no right 
to taunt a prisoner. Father and I will help you 
take him to court. I’ll fetch his other hat.” 

“ No. He goes just as he is. All the gang wore 
masks. His outfit is what will identify him. Keep 
those guns out of his reach, Mr. Jordan. Kate, 
bring me a hogging-string.” 

Jordan backed to the far side of the room. Kate 
hastened into the kitchen. She returned with a 
piece of small rope and stood watching with deep¬ 
ened distress while Lort jerked down Corveau’s 




208 


The Two-Gun Man 


arms and lashed his manacled wrists to his waist. 

The deputy shoved his prisoner roughly out 
through the side porch and up into the front seat 
of the car. There he hobbled him with the loose 
end of the rope. Kate had hurried to shut up the 
house. She ran out, hat in hand, and took the seat 
beside her father. 

Corveau did not twist around to question them 
or make any protest. While the car rolled into 
town he sat motionless, staring straight ahead. He 
saw it all now —the whole bitter humiliating truth. 

What a blind fool he had proved himself! If 
he had been drunk, or even if it had happened at 
night, but to be framed like that, sober and in broad 
daylight! What he needed was a guardian, and a 
nurse — a baby nurse! 

A group of men stood crowded together in the 
wide doorway of the garage. As the maroon car 
came near, Jake elbowed his greasy way through 
the jam and shook a smudged fist at Corveau. 

“Hi, boys! look! There he is now, the killer! 
the bloody two-gun murderer!” 

Several of the men shouted curses. Corveau did 
not so much as turn his glance towards them. He 
had known only too well what to expect. Lort was 
driving far slower than was his custom. One of 
the men, a young cowboy, leaped on his horse and 
spurred forward alongside the car. He unbuckled 



Judge Lynch’s Court 


209 


his rope from its saddle-strap and dangled the noose 
meaningly towards the prisoner. 

Sheriff Jordan thrust out a fat forefinger at tha 
taunter. 

“ Stop that, Kenzie, or I’ll arrest you for inciting 
to mob violence.” 

The cowboy hastily coiled his rope and dropped 
to the rear. But Jake and the rest of the crowd 
had piled aboard cars in the garage. With a wild 
rush, they overhauled the maroon car and closed 
about it, jeering and cursing the prisoner. They 
paid no heed to Jordan’s warning shouts. Someone 
yelled for Kenzie to hand over his rope. 

Jordan pulled out a memorandum book and with 
the stub of a pencil began to write down names. 
The first driver to notice this proceeding shoved on 
his emergency brake. The man who had called for 
the rope ducked down behind others in the same 
car. Kenzie saw Jordan’s pencil point at him. He 
wheeled his horse into a side street All the rest of 
the little mob fell silent. 

But their yells had carried far, and the town hall 
was now only a block away. From before it a great 
mob of excited ranchers, town people and railroad 
passengers came surging up the street to meet the 
prisoner. 

“Turn round, Bullen,” said Jordan. “That 
crowd looks like business.” 



210 


The Two-Gun Man 


“No,” refused Lort. “They can’t bluff me. 
We’re going to the hall.” 

Kate stooped to reach for something at her 
father’s feet. The car slowed down. The advanc¬ 
ing mob filled the street solidly from side to side. 
It did not open up. Had the car been going faster 
than a walk when it struck the front of the jam, 
many of the crowd would have been crushed or run 
over. As it was, those in front were forced back 
and sideways. 

The men at the right side of the car surged for¬ 
ward to seize the prisoner and drag him out. Kate 
suddenly stood up and leaned over Corveau, with 
both his revolvers out-thrust. 

“Keep away,” she said. “We are taking him to 
Judge Drake. It’s awful to kill anybody, but I will 
shoot the first man who touches him.” 

The very calmness of the girl’s voice carried con¬ 
viction. Everyone in the mob who knew her real¬ 
ized that she regarded the protection of the pris¬ 
oner as a matter of duty, and they knew that to her 
duty was something to be done regardless of what 
might happen to herself. 

The strangers who did not know her and the 
roughs who had no sense of moral values might 
have followed up their rush, only there were those 
two big revolvers staring down into their scowling 
faces. A gun in the hand of a woman is a danger- 



Judge Lynch's Court 


211 


ous thing. It is very apt to go off. 

All the mob nearest the prisoner shied away 
sideways as fast as they could jostle those behind. 
Kate called out in her clear calm voice: 

u Go on, Bullen. This is not a mob of lynchers. 
These are law-abiding citizens, all except a few ig¬ 
norant men who do not know any better. The rest 
believe in the law. They believe that any prisoner, 
no matter what he is accused of, has a right to a fair 
trial in court. They will help us guard him from 
the poor misguided believers in violence.” 

A cowboy, the young fellow Kenzie, whooped 
close behind the car: 

“Hooray for Katie Jordan! She’s the peacher- 
ino two-gun girl! ” 

From the wavering, hesitating mob burst a sudden 
hearty uproar — hilarious yells, shouts of approval. 
In a twinkling the sullen rancour of the would-be 
lynchers had dissolved into admiration for the 
“nerve” of the girl who stood there so calmly un¬ 
afraid of them all. 

With the breaking of the evil spell of the mob 
spirit, nine in ten of the crowd roused to their every¬ 
day normal-mindedness. The few real fools and 
badmen were hustled out of the way of the maroon 
car. A lane opened for Lort to drive through to 
the town hall. 

Certain that the danger was all past, Kate, 




212 


The Two-Gun Man 


womanlike, began to tremble. She sank back upon 
the seat beside her father and thrust the revolvers 
into his lap. He put them into their holsters with 

his usual deliberation. 

“ It’s a good thing you were along, Katie,” he 
said. “ Bullen of course couldn’t do anything, as 
he was driving, and I’m slow. I’m too slow to be 
sheriff. If it hadn’t been for you, they’d have taken 
him.” 

“But — but, father, if they had touched him! 
If they had made me shoot! Oh-h! ” 

For the first time in all the tense minutes of dead¬ 
ly danger Corveau turned from his fixed stare ahead. 
He twisted about in his seat to face the quivering, 
white-faced girl. His lips curved in a reassuring 
smile. 

“ It’s all right, Miss Jordan. Don’t you let that 
worry you. Those guns wouldn’t have gone off. 
They’ve got secret safety catches.” 

“They have? Oh, then I wouldn’t have hurt 
anybody at all! ” 

Corveau faced to front again, his eyes aglow from 
her look of relief. It was not often you could think 
up such a good lie on the spur of the moment. 




CHAPTER XIX 


CAUGHT WITH THE GOODS 
HE lie was, indeed, a good one. Kate rallied 



JL almost instantly from her spell of “nerves.” 
Though a few moments brought the car to the front 
of the town hall, she was again ready to do her duty. 

A crowd, mostly women, had lingered behind the 
mob. Other people were flocking from all parts 
of the town, attracted by the uproar. As the car 
came to a stop, Kate sprang out and opened the 
front door to untie Corveau’s ankles. Her father 
heaved out to plant his bulk between her and the 
staring onlookers. 

Lort suddenly stood up and drew his pistol. 

“Stand back,” he ordered. “The murderer may 
make a break to get away.” 

Corveau flashed a grin into Kate’s upjerked 
startled face. 

“That’s what, down in Mexico, they call the ley 
fugio dodge. Tell a prisoner to beat it; then shoot 
him for running.” 

Her blue eyes widened with horrified doubt. Cor¬ 
veau stepped from the car. She slipped in between 
him and Lort. The end of the hogging-string 
trailed from his waist. She caught it up and hur- 


213 





214 


The Two-Gun Man 


ried him past her father to the steps of the town 
hall. As they started up, Lort and Jordan came 
shouldering to overtake them. The crowd surged 
forward, everybody eager to reach the courtroom 
before it was filled to overflowing. 

At the top step of the inside stairway Corveau 
spoke over his shoulder to Lort: 

“ I sure am getting popular, Mr. Bull. Your mob 
was one of the most whole-souled enthusiastic neck¬ 
tie parties I ever saw miss connections.” 

“ Don’t let that bother you,” replied Lort. “ The 
warden has plenty of rope down at Canon City.” 

Kate hurried Corveau along the upper corridor 
to the attorneys’ entrance and into the courtroom. 

This time the little judge was not smoking his 
corncob and cracking jokes. Nor did he call out 
to Kate in his usual free-and-easy manner. He sat 
stiffly upright, squinting down over his bench at the 
railroad brakeman in the witness chair. Several 
people who looked like train passengers occupied 
the seats inside the rail. 

At sight of the prisoner and his guard, Drake 
stopped questioning the witness and jerked his 
thumb towards the dock. Kate led Corveau to the 
little pen. There was now nothing unmagisterial 
or farcical about the bald head and wizened face 
of the little judge. He thrust out a bony finger at 
Lort. 





Caught with the Goods 


215 


“You! Put up that gun, or leave this court¬ 
room. Now, Corveau, pick your lawyer from this 
bunch at the table, or the court will name one for 
you.” 

“ Not if I can help it, your honor. I won’t trust 
my neck to any law sharp without first getting A-one 
references on his ability and squareness.” 

“Suit yourself. The court is after facts, not 
technicalities. Coroner can’t hold his inquest till 
the express messenger dies. Do you waive pre- 
lim’nary hearing?” 

Corveau gazed around at the stream of excited 
spectators still pouring in through the doorway. 

“Why, if you don’t mind, judge, I wouldn’t want 
to disappoint the audience. For another thing, I’m 
keen as any of ’em to find out just why I’m here.” 

One of the lawyers rose rather pompously. After 
announcing that he spoke as amicus curia — a 
friend of the court — he objected to the irregularity 
of proceeding in the absence of the prosecuting at¬ 
torney. Drake cut him short. 

“That’ll do, Mr. Miller. The court is following 
his own precedents. You’re a newcomer in Elk. 
Look up the S’preme Court decisions for the past 
thirty years and more. You’ll find mighty few re¬ 
versals of my rulings.” 

As the court’s new friend sat down, Corveau 
spoke: 







216 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Your honor, so far’s I’m concerned, go as far 
as you like. All I want is a square deal. I know 
I’ll get it here.” 

“You’ll get justice without any trimmings. First 
place, the law says you don’t have to say anything 
to incrim’nate yourself. All right. Now, this here 
train brakie has been telling about the holdup. He 
got a pretty close look at the last bandit when the 
bunch scooted. His description fits you to a T. 
Pull your neck’chief over your nose.” 

Corveau obeyed. The witness jumped up and 
pointed excitedly. 

“That’s him! That’s the last one to run. He 
was up at the express car. That’s his Mexican hat 
and girl’s sash. But he had two guns slung in front, 
like those Sheriff Jordan has there. He’s the one 
who shot poor Bernie.” 

“ Did you see him shoot him.” 

“ Why, I didn’t exactly see him. They were pep¬ 
pering the smoker with buckshot. I couldn’t look 
out without being riddled. But all the same, I 
know-” 

“No, you don’t know. You just guess. Leave 
the chair. Now, you passenger folks. Did any of 
you see this here prisoner shoot or shoot at the ex¬ 
press messenger, or at or into the express car? Did 
you actually see it with your own eyes?” 

Four or five of the passengers had started to rise. 










Caught with the Goods 


217 


They ended by twisting impatiently on the edge of 
the long bench. 

u Can’t blame you a-tall,” said his honor. “ With 
them fusillades of buckshot and pistol bullets buzz¬ 
ing through the car windows, I’d ’a’ been kissing 
the floor myself. But how about just seeing the 
prisoner?” 

Nearly a dozen passengers sprang to their feet. 
They were called forward and sworn. In quick suc¬ 
cession, each positively identified Corveau and testi¬ 
fied that he had been forward near the express car. 
Worst of all, three of the witnesses claimed they had 
seen him and a man with a sawed-off pumpgun leap 
from the bushes and dash at the express car. But 
the first volleys of the other bandits had forced them 
to duck back from their windows before they saw 
the prisoner shoot. 

Along wfith this testimony Corveau learned for 
the first time that no passenger had been robbed or 
hurt. The bandits had started in by firing clear over 
the cars, and afterwards had aimed high, except at 
the vestibules. They had not attempted to board 
the passenger coaches. Their loot had been limited 
to sealed pouches of mail and express matter. No 
evidence was given as to the contents of the pouches 
or their value. 

So far, however, as Corveau was concerned, it 
made no difference whether the loot was worth a 





218 


The Two-Gun Man 


million dollars or one cent. The penalty for the 
crime would be years in a federal penitentiary. The 
shooting of the express messenger was still more 
serious. From what the brakeman and old Drake 
had intimated, the nervy young fellow had been 
fatally wounded. His death would mean a charge 
of first-degree murder. Conviction spelled at least 
ten years; more probably a life sentence — if not 
the gallows. 

For the first time in all his lifelong craving for 
action and excitement, Corveau found himself fed 
up. This situation was altogether different from 
swinging a rattlesnake by the tail or letting a bad- 
man make first move to draw. 

He had gambled with death too often to mind 
the mere chance of being snuffed out. Therein had 
lain the real fun of the game — betting his life on 
the quickness of his trigger finger. But this was no 
joke. He was up against the law. The risk of 
death had been the spice of life. Not so this risk of 
disgrace. 

To the bitterness of his present uncomfortable fix 
and his black prospects, two things added gall and 
wormwood. First, Kate. She had already been 
compelled by the force of circumstances to doubt 
him, if not fully to believe the worst. It did not 
matter much about all the others. But if he failed 
to clear himself in her eyes, then.Best not 




Caught with the Goods 


219 


to think of that. It was unendurable. 

Hardly less maddening was the ease with which 
he had been outplayed, tricked, framed! He had 
put his head right into the noose, with his eyes wide 
open. And he had done it, knowing that Lort was 
out to get him — was laying for him. The mere 
thought of how he had cavorted into the trap stung 
him like a flail of poisonous cholla cactus. The 
shame of it burned in his veins like fire, it blistered 
his soul. Let him get only half a chance for a crack 
at that bull-faced, corkscrewed-brained- 

There the big skunk was now, all set to hog-tie 
his throw! 

Lort, duly sworn, testified with convincing terse¬ 
ness: 

“ Coming to town I met my hired truck homeward 
bound. Driver told about the train holdup. I ran 
into town to learn the particulars; ordered the alarm 
phoned out in every direction; sent cars to search 
the roads; filled my own car with a posse and hit out 
down-river to-” 

“Just a minute. Where was the sheriff — your 
chief, all this time?” 

“ Llome. Seems nobody thought to phone him. 
All too up in the air. Well, a little way down below 
town, we saw a rider taking the old cut-across trail 
to the Jordan ranch. We had a pair of field glasses 
along. It was this prisoner — Kid Corveau.” 








220 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Better correct that to ‘Sid,’” advised Corveau. 
“We don’t want any slip-up over my identification, 
do we?” 

“ You’re right,” agreed Lort. “ I stand corrected. 
The rider we all saw cutting across from down the 
river was this prisoner — Sid Corveau, the two-gun 
killer, who-” 

“Hold your hosses, Mister Dep’ty,” interrupted 
Drake. “ Opinions ain’t evidence. Your calling him 
a killer don’t make him one; and unless you saw 
him come from down-river, he may just have taken 
a jog over from the ranch to the river and back. 
Now go on and try to stick to facts.” 

Lort’s florid face went crimson, but he managed 
to hold in his anger. 

“I drove back to town; left my posse at Jake’s 
garage, and went on to the Jordan ranch alone.” 

“Why alone?” 

“Thought Corveau might see the bunch coming 
and hit out to rejoin his gang. For another thing, 
if you want to know, it meant a good deal of pleas¬ 
ure to me to take him singlehanded. He prides him¬ 
self on being as quick on the draw as Billy the Kid.” 

“That’s a mighty smart play to the gallery, Mis¬ 
ter Dep’ty — that ‘Billy.’ Mebbe, though, you best 
take it back. Comparisons sometimes are odorous 
and cut like a two-edged sword. F’instance, ‘ billy ’ 
used to be one name for a slungshot you use to hit 




Caught with the Goods 


221 


unsuspicious persons with — from behind.” 

The thrust staggered Lort only for a moment. 
He struck back with equal sarcasm: 

“Are we to understand that your honor is acting 
as attorney for this proven train robber and prob¬ 
able murderer? ” 

“The court, Mister Dep’ty Sheriff, is sitting to 
hear facts and to warn sworn witnesses who teeter 
on the brink of perjury. It’ll be for a jury to say 
if anything’s proved against this pris’ner. As for 
your opinion of him, it don’t amount to shucks, and 
the court takes cog-ni-zance of the fact. The court’s 
patience has just about reached boiling point. Any 
more of your cute little plays to the gallery will be 
figgered as cold-blooded premeditated contempt of 
court, which same can be purged only by incarcera¬ 
tion in jail.” 

Mr. Miller, volunteer amicus cur'ue y rose to re¬ 
lieve the strain on his shocked sense of legal pro¬ 
priety. 

“ If it please the court, may I venture to state my 
impression that such judicial censuring of an offi¬ 
cial witness, verging, as it would seem, upon the in¬ 
ference of a possible suggestion of intimida¬ 
tion-” 

“No, it don’t please the court. Set! Now, Bull 
Lort, you can hand out the rest of your facts. But 
mind — no more embroidering or curlicues.” 





222 


The Two-Gun Man 


The interruption by the lawyer had given Lort 
time to think twice. Consequently he choked down 
his rage. In its way, his rancour against the little 
judge was even greater than his hatred of Corveau. 
He had almost permitted himself to be badgered 
into a foolish outburst. The closeness of the call 
chilled the heat of his rage to cold fury. 

“All right,” he said. “Plain boiled facts it is. 
Miss Jordan and the sheriff will verify them. Here 
they are: I went to the Jordan ranch house and 
started to tell about the train holdup. This pris¬ 
oner Sid Corveau came in. He confessed himself 
a bandit. I disarmed, handcuffed, and searched him. 
Failed to find the third gun he has been carrying, 
but felt a package concealed in his shirt. Did not 
take out the package. Left it to be removed from 
his person and examined here in court.” 

“ Heh-heh,” cackled Drake. “ Way you say that, 
it sort of sounds like you knowed what was in the 
package. Didn’t happen to plant it on him yourself, 
did you?” 

But Lort was now too coldly venomous to heed 
mere stings. He answered with thinly veiled in¬ 
solence : 

“No need for me to do the planting. The goods 
were already on him. I knew by the feel what they 
were. But I’m not saying. If the court isn’t too 
much afraid he’ll find something that cinches the 



Caught with the Goods 


223 


case against his pet-•” 

“ Sheriff,” snapped Drake, “ search the pris’ner.” 

Jordan heaved a breath that was almost a groan. 
He rose heavily from his seat between Kate and the 
dock. Corveau smiled into Kate’s anxious eyes and 
spoke to her father: 

“ Never mind, Mr. Jordan. You have to do your 
duty. It’s down on my left side, just above the belt. 
You’ll have to untie the hogging-string. It’s below 
that.” 

The pudgy fingers fumbled awkwardly at the tight 
knots. Kate came to help. Her suspense was more 
than she could bear. She murmured close to Cor- 
veau’s ear: 

“ Wha-what is it, Sidney?” 

“I don’t know — yet. Ask Bull. I was keeping 
it as a happy surprise for you to open. The fake 
movie director called it a bonus. If I could get to 
him with a club, he’d be a bone-muss.” 

“ Oh, Sidney, whatever you’ve done, you shouldn’t 
give way to vengeful feelings.” 

“ It’s not what I’ve done. It’s the way I’ve been 
done.” 

“That’ll do, Katie,” ordered his honor. “If 
the pris’ner has anything to say, he can tell it to the 
court.” 

Kate pulled loose the last knot, smothered a sigh, 
and returned to her seat. Corveau obligingly caved 





224 


The Two-Gun Man 


in his chest to make room for Jordan’s bulky arm. 
After some fumbling, the arm drew up and out 
through the unbuttoned shirt front. The fat fingers 
clutched a big envelope. 

From the hushed crowd that jammed every inch 
of the courtroom behind the rail, came a sudden in¬ 
sucking of breath. Jordan stood motionless, staring 
at his find, heedless of Drake’s crooked finger. The 
little judge uttered a sharp “ Ck-ck-ck!” as if start¬ 
ing a horse. With heavy reluctance, Jordan moved 
forward and handed up the envelope. 

Drake drew out a tattered white silk handker¬ 
chief; took off his half-moon spectacles; breathed 
upon, wiped and polished them; put back the hand¬ 
kerchief in his pocket; adjusted the spectacles to the 
dent in his nose, and peered at the envelope with 
maddening deliberation. 

He had not been on the bench since the mid¬ 
eighties without learning the value of suspense. In 
fact, his sense of the dramatic had given him almost 
as much hold upon the voters of the county as had 
his quaint wisdom, just decisions, and amusing eccen¬ 
tricities. 

He turned the envelope over and over, in the 
same manner that many of the onlookers were ac¬ 
customed to examine and wonder about their own 
letters before opening them. Then, at last, he fished 
down into a lower pocket and produced an old jack- 




Caught with the Goods 


225 


knife. In due process of judicial deliberation, the 
one unbroken blade of the knife was opened with 
the aid of a dime. 

Business of slitting an end of the envelope, taking 
utmost care not to injure the contents. The claw¬ 
like fingers pressed open the cut end. From scores 
of throats came a sound that was half gasp, half 
murmur. In another instant he would see — would 
know! 

He did see. He peered fixedly into the envelope. 
But he had as good a poker face as Bull Lort. Not 
even his old bailiff could guess from the look on that 
wizened countenance what the contents of the en- 

I velope were, or even whether they struck the looker 
as interesting. 

Without a word, the little judge tapped those 
mysterious contents down in the envelope and pro¬ 
ceeded to close the opened end by means of a candle 
and a stick of sealing wax. 

This proved too much for Lort’s discretion. 
“Look here, Drake,” he warned. “We’re hold¬ 
ing a public hearing on a matter of train robbery 
and murder. You have no right to conceal any evi¬ 
dence, even if you are a judge.” 

Before replying Drake wet the metal disc of the 
court seal with his finger tip and stamped the warm 
sealing wax. 

“Heh-heh, that’s done, and a good job! Now, 






226 


The Two-Gun Man 


Mister Dep’ty Sheriff. In this court it’s the court 
who decides what he has a right to do. This piece 
of evidence stays concealed until required. The oral 
evidence has been enough and to spare. The court 
rules that the pris’ner will be held for trial on the 
charge of robbery with a gun. No motion for bail 
will be considered till the court learns if it’s a mis¬ 
take about that express messenger being sure to 
die.” 



CHAPTER XX 


SAFETY FIRST 

1 0RT started to growl a protest, and thought 
J better of it. After all, for the judge to hold 
Corveau without bail was as good as charging him 
outright with the felonious shooting of the express 
messenger. No chance now of his getting out of jail 
as a trusty or by bail. 

The insistent Mr. Miller evidently considered 
himself in need of more advertising. He rose for 
the third time. 

“ If it please the court, the accused is unrepre¬ 
sented by counsel. May it not be both relevant and 
equitable to inquire whether he has any statement 
to make before the enforcement of the court’s 
order?” 

“Nope. When his case comes to trial, he’ll have 
his chance to plead guilty or not guilty. Further¬ 
more, betwixt now and then he’ll have time to hire 
a lawyer. The court is going to see to it personally 
that the pris’ner is locked up good and tight. Bailiff, 
we’ll help Hank and Katie guard him to the jail. 
Court stands ad— Hold on. Wait a minute.” 

He caught up the sealed envelope and disappeared 
into his chambers — a cubbyhole adjoining his end 
227 





228 


The Two-Gun Man 


of the courtroom. When, after a brief delay, he 
popped back through the doorway, he no longer held 
the envelope. A sharp rap of his gavel hammer 
silenced the excited whispers and muttered comments 
that had broken out all over the courtroom during 
his absence. 

“Now, Hank, pass Bill one them forty-fives of the 
pris’ner, and me t’other one. Guess I can still 
handle a six-gun. All right. Katie, you and your 
pa walk the pris’ner betwixt you. That’s it. Court 
stands adjourned.” 

At the word the little judge clapped on his old 
black slouch hat and stepped down to place himself 
with Bill, the bailiff, behind the prisoner. As he did 
so he looked hard at Lort. No need for him to 
speak. That look was enough to bring a crowd of 
eager backers elbowing out of the jam of spectators. 
They pushed past the swing-gate of the rail and 
grouped around the prisoner and his guards. Lort 
was shoved aside by the weight of numbers. 

The names of certain ones of the volunteer escort 
were in Jordan’s memorandum-book. These old- 
time vigilantes still would have relished lynching the 
two-gun man. But when it came to a choice of 
backing Lort or Drake, they stood strong for the 
little judge. Most of them were grizzled ranchers. 
Lort numbered his personal following more among 
the town toughs and roughnecks. 



Safety First 


229 


Even Lort himself felt no urge to interfere with 
that business-like bunch of former vigilantes. He 
stood back while the old-timers guarded the prisoner 
out of the courtroom and down to the street. They 
were as grimly determined to land the accused safe 
in jail as, in the past, they had been resolute over 
escorting horsethieves and cattle rustlers to the 
nearest tree. 

The crowd that packed the street had begun to 
mutter itself back into an ugly mood. A little 
fumbling of the situation would have meant another 
attempt at lynch law. The former vigilantes did 
not wait for some fool to touch off the powder keg. 
They plowed a way through the mob towards its up¬ 
town border. 

Before those who had incited the mob realized 
what was happening, the prisoner had been hustled 
clear of the crowd. There the old-timers lined up 
across the street with guns drawn for action. Be¬ 
hind them Judge Drake requisitioned the nearest un¬ 
locked car. It whirled away up the street. When 
it turned the corner towards the jail the guards 
quietly bolstered their guns and mingled with the 
crowd. All danger of a lynching was past — for 
the time being. 

At the jail Kate’s first act after opening the door 
was to collect Corveau’s cartridge belt and revolvers 
and place all in her desk. She then led Corveau to 





230 


The Two-Gun Man 


the cellroom door. Drake followed. 

“ Lock him in a cell, Katie. This ain’t a bootleg 
joke like t’other time.” 

“ But it hasn’t yet been proved he was guilty, 
Uncle Drake, even if they did see him.” 

“As how?” 

“Why, I just know it. I —I have a feeling that 
Sidney couldn’t have done such a dreadful thing.” 

“That’s not legal evidence, Katie. There were 
all them train witnesses identified him — or least- 
ways his clothes. D’you figger a-nuther man bor¬ 
rowed his sash and hat?” 

“Oh, no, it wasn’t that, Uncle Drake. It was — 
it was a man came from the movie picture people to 
hire Sidney.” 

The little judge beetled his shaggy eyebrows at 
her. 

“ That’ll do — no more of that. What we’re here 
for now is to see him locked up right and tight. If 
you want to put it t’other way round, you know there 
ain’t a place safer for him than in here. I see you’ve 
got them jugs and cans of bootleg in the first cell. 
Mighty funny things — them long cans. Best put 
your pris’ner in the third cell, clean away from that 
stuff. The smell is bad enough.” 

“No, Uncle Drake. That ugly man who killed 
his wife was in the third cell, and the bunk in the 
next one is splintery. It catches the bedding. I’ll 




Safety First 


231 


put Sidney in Number Five.” 

“ Heh-heh! You’re a good careful housekeeper, 
Katie, and a good jailkeeper, too. Sure of that cell 
lock, are you?” 

Jordan spoke for the first time: 

“She had Jake go over them all when she took 
charge. You’re right, judge, about her being care¬ 
ful. Reason she had those wire screens put on the 
windows wasn’t only to shut out flies and mosquitoes. 
She thought somebody might toss things to prisoners 
up through the bars.” 

“Good idee. To do it now they’d have to get a 
ladder and cut the screen.” 

Drake thrust ahead into the fifth cell and hopped 
up on the end of the bunk. 

“Heh. Look at these here bars, Hank — thick’s 
your thumb and set in angle-iron sills. You needn’t 
worry ’bout any mob busting in here— Hey! 
Hold on, Katie ! ” 

Out of the cell hopped his honor, looking as 
alarmed as if he really thought Kate intended to 
lock him in with the prisoner. Neither she nor her 
father smiled. Jordan turned his back. But Kate, 
though her eyes were dark with grief, clicked the cell 
door shut on Corveau. 

He raised his closely linked manacled hands and 
gave her a reassuring smile. 

“Don’t you mind having to do your duty, Miss 



232 


The Two-Gun Man 


Kate. Any sucker who’d let himself be roped as 
easy as I did deserves to be left holding the sack. 
Why, the way I-” 

“ Button up your lip,” ordered Drake. “ It ain’t 
proper trying to prejudice the court when he’s off his 
bench. Come along, Katie.” 

“But, Uncle Drake — his hands! Those cuffs 
must be so uncomfortable! And he’s all locked up 
now. Bullen put them on him, but father has the 
duplicate keys.” 

Drake stared hard at the close-linked handcuffs. 

“Nope. You leave them on him, Katie, till 
further orders of the court. That poor express boy 
Bernie is hurt mighty bad. Come away now. Your 
pa can fetch the kid a drink, if he wants one.” 

Kate gave Corveau a pitiful look and went out 
into the office with the snappy little judge. Her 
father silently brought a can of water from the wash¬ 
room. Corveau took it through the little cell-door 
window in his manacled hands and drank deep. 

“Mil gracias, sehor! Haven’t been so dry since 
the day I first struck Coldwell. Le’s see. That’s 
not much over two weeks, is it? ” 

“Three weeks next Monday,” replied Jordan in 
a mutter that was almost a groan. “You certainly 
took me in! I remember we let you into the family 
that very first evening. Even talked of deputizing 
you to help me run down the bootleggers; and then I 





Safety First 


233 


went and did it — commissioned you! Ten to one, 
they’re your own bunch of scoundrels that committed 
this train holdup.” 

“ Better wait till you round up the gang before 
you pass on our brands being the same,” said Cor- 
veau. “My ante! You talk about being taken in. 
How about me? First Gig Dorcy with his ginger 
ale. Then you with your hypocrital cant about 
Christian duty and trust in me. And now him-” 

After waiting in vain for those tight-set lips to 
open again, Jordan had to voice his curiosity: 

“ Him? Who?” 

“Nemmind who,” snapped Corveau. “I’m not 
showing my cards to cappers for the gang.” 

Jordan’s puffy cheeks purpled. Never had he 
been so insulted in all his square-dealing good- 
natured life. He went out into the office and heaved 
shut the ponderous cellroom door with a clash that 
jarred the whole building. 

Corveau bounded up on the bare planks of the 
bunk and stared close at the window. He grasped 
one of the thick iron bars and tried to shake it. No, 
there could have been no hint in old Drake’s talk. 
The bars were all set as solid as rock. Top and 
bottom their ends were riveted through holes in the 
broad flanges of the angle-iron sills. 

When, at sunset, Kate came in with the prisoner’s 
supper, she found him seated dejectedly on the edge 






234 


The Two-Gun Man 


of his bunk, elbows on knees and chin in palms. She 
opened the little window in the cell door. 

“Sidney, I’m sorry I can’t ask you to join us at 
supper. You made father very angry-” 

“Yes, ma’am. He scratched me, and I scratched 
back. Only difference, I don’t believe he’s in with 
the gang, but he’s dead sure I am.” 

“ I’m not, Sidney—at least not positively certain, 
the way everybody else seems to be. I told Uncle 
Drake— But there; I mustn’t say another word. 
Uncle Drake made me promise not to talk to you 
about anything except meals and like that.” 

“ Mighty kind of him! ” jeered Corveau. “ This 
is one hot town, I’ll tell the world. Accept my 
humble thanks for your not being as dead sure as 
your pa that I’m Jesse James, Jr., grandson of Billy 
the Kid.” 

Out burst Kate’s pent-up indignation: 

“It’s a shame, Bullen talking that way! If only 
I’d been Uncle Drake— Oh, dear, there I go 
again! Yet I promised Uncle Drake not to talk. 
And he ordered me positively to keep you closely 
locked up. He said, if I didn’t, he v/ould hold me 
responsible, in case you escaped.” 

“ Fat chance of me busting loose from this corral 
— all these bars and locks. Hobbled, to boot! ” 

“Yes, that’s the worst. But he said, perhaps to¬ 
morrow we could arrange so it would be safe to 




Safety First 


235 


take off your handcuffs. Now come and take your 
supper. Please do, Sidney, before it gets cold. I 
made onion gravy to go with the steak, just because 
I knew you must be feeling blue — and there’s your 
favorite custard, Sidney.” 

Corveau sprang up and came to the cell door 
smiling. 

“ When I drop through the gallows trap, Kate, I 
may keep going right on down to Old Nick; but I’ll 
take with me the taste of your cooking.” 

Kate’s cheeks lost several shades of their healthy 
rose. The edge of her tray rattled on the steel sill 
of the little window. 

“Oh — oh, Sidney, please don’t joke about — 
such things! You see, I’ve cut up your steak for 
you.” 

The last trace of bitterness had left Corveau’s 
eyes. He began to feed himself with one-handed 
expertness over his crossed left forearm. The keen¬ 
ness of his appetite brought a degree of relief into 
Kate’s anxious face. 

When he came to the custard he dipped into it 
hopefully. 

“Y’never can tell. Once was with an outfit had 
a red-haired cook. Found one of ’em in the soup. 
May be as lucky with this dish.” 

“ Sidney! You can’t think I’m so careless! ” 

“No, worse luck! I was thinking of that story 


/ 





236 


The Two-Gun Man 


about Old Nick and the man in the desert. Desert 
is right! That same low-down desert with only a 
thin crust between it and — t’other place. The year 
is ’most up, Kate. I’ve a feeling it’s the last night. 
How about that single solitary hair?” 

The brown-black eyes looked straight out between 
the bars with no sign of mirth or mockery. Kate 
bent suddenly to put the tray on the floor. When 
she straightened up she thrust her loosely closed 
hand in through the window. Corveau lifted his 
hands to clasp it. Kate bobbed down again to catch 
up the tray. She fled from the cellroom. 

Nearly an hour later Jordan lumbered in, heavy¬ 
faced and heavy-footed, to bring a pair of blankets 
for the prisoner. As he shoved them, one at a time, 
through the cell-door window he noticed the prisoner 
moving his hands as if pulling something between 
them and then dangling it from one thumb and 
finger. The action looked suspicious. 

“What d’you think you’re doing?” he demanded. 

“Who, me? Why, if you want to know, I’m 
making sure if I’ve got the devil fooled.” 

Jordan did not take into account the twilight. He 
could see nothing in Corveau’s fingers. Conse¬ 
quently he believed there was nothing. He left the 
cellroom shaking his head doubtfully. Killers some¬ 
times went crazy as soon as they landed in jail — 
and sometimes they made believe to go crazy. 



CHAPTER XXI 


“nor iron bars a cage” 


C ORVEAU kept to his pulling and dangling 
until the twilight faded out and he could not 
see that which was in his hands, even when held up 
between his eyes and the outside window. With 
utmost care he wound his precious possession around 
two fingers and worked it off between the leaves of 
his shirt-pocket Testament. 

After this, with some little effort, he managed to 
pull off his boots. Crossed together, they made his 
usual range pillow. He stretched out between the 
single pair of blankets and promptly dropped off to 
sleep with a smile on his lips. 

He slept soundly, but not heavily. Like all men 
of his type, his brain was set on a hair-trigger. Even 
in sleep the slightest hint of danger was enough to 
put him on the alert. One moment he lay fast 
asleep; the next he had silently sat up on his bunk, 
open-eyed and fully conscious. 

In his ears was a faint clipping sound. Then came 
a slightly louder ripping. It was at or near the 
window. Though the night was starlit, the shadow 
under the broad eaves was black as the cell. But 
Corveau took thought of his enemies — of his es¬ 
pecial enemy. 


237 


238 


The Two-Gun Man 


No need of daylight to picture a hand cutting 
the wire screen in order to thrust a pistol muzzle or 
a knife between the bars. Both Lefty and A1 had 
the Mexican knack of flipping a knife. A pistol 
shot would be sure to waken Kate and perhaps rouse 
the people in the scattered houses of the neighbor¬ 
hood. A knife would be noiseless. 

The screen cutter could not be a friend. Who 
was there would risk arrest by coming near him? 
No one had shown him the slightest friendship — 
except of course Kate. But Kate would be the last 
person in Elk to come sneaking around his window 
this way. Besides, would not she or any real friend 
have first called in to him? 

Friend, bah! That screen must soon be cut loose. 
Then would come the sudden dazzling flash of an 
electric torch, followed instantly by the flick of a 
knife or the roar of a pistol. The screen must al¬ 
ready be cut around- 

Quick and silent as a cat, Corveau twisted about 
to grasp one of his boots and stand up on the bunk. 
His stockinged feet made no sound. He pressed 
close against the wall, with the boot poised in his 
upraised hands, ready to strike. 

His head was close beside the window, his eyes 
a span above the level of the lower sill. He did not 
peer out. At such close range his face might show. 
He must surprise the surprises A single lucky blow 




“ Nor Iron Bars a Cag> 


239 


| might knock the knife or pistol out of the hand of 
| the assassin. It would fall into the cell and- 

From the other side of the bars came an irritable 
mutter: 

“Gosh dang them dull shears!” 

Corveau felt his eyes and mouth gape wide open. 
The boot slipped from his astounded fingers and 
went slithering down his back. It thumped on the 
head of his bunk. The clipping, ripping sound out¬ 
side abruptly ceased. 

After a breathless pause, a whisper, low but 
squeaky, shrilled faintly between the bars, almost at 
Corveau’s ear: 

“S-s-sh! That you, kid? You ’wake, heh?” 

“Nope, I’m only dreaming I’m awake, your 
honor.” 

“Ts-s-st! No names! This here’s on’y a leetle 
judicial investigation. Sort of sealed interrog’tories, 
so to speak. Firstly, le’s hear your say-so ’bout that 
movie business. Hold on. Get a muffler up round 
your side the winder.” 

Corveau managed to get one of the blankets over 
his head. Hands reached in and pulled two of the 
corners up and outwards, entirely blanketing the 
window. 

“Now,” whispered the squeaky voice outside,, 
“fire away — with a silencer.” 

The invitation found Corveau ready. 





240 


The Two-Gun Man 


“That day Miss Kate took me down to Fish 
Creek for a picnic, he saw me do some two-gun work 
for the movie folks, and he saw the picture boss 
take down my name and address.” 

“ Heh. Goon.” 

“Any need to show he had a motive — two mo¬ 
tives?” 

“One’s clear enough. T’other-” 

“That’s the real one. He knows Miss Kate will 
stand for her promise to him, far as I’m concerned. 
But if I nail him——” 

“ Stick to your firstly.” 

This struck Corveau as unfair. 

“Why, if you won’t let me show he had an A-one 
motive— Oh, well, let’s get along. He was the 
only one beside Miss Kate and the picture folks who 
knew the movie boss figured on using me for two-gun 
work. Maybe the movie bunch put over the hold¬ 
up themselves, or tipped off a yegg gang to use 
me. But I’m willing to believe it was Bull.” 

“Heh-heh. Where’s your proof? He didn’t 
plant that envelope in your shirt when he frisked 
you, did he?” 

“ No, that was a bonus for my good acting. Fake 
assistant director paid me twenty bucks, as agreed, 
and threw in the bonus.” 

“Tossed you a nice plump di’mon’-back rattle¬ 
snake, heh?” 





“Nor Iron Bars a Cage” 241 

Corveau’s curiosity got the better of him. 

“What was it, uncle?” 

The cracked voice chuckled sardonically out of the 
blackness. 

“ Heh-heh-heh! Good and plenty—good and 
plenty! Mebbe more’n they figgered on giving you. 
It was handed over to you all sealed up, was it?” 

“Yes, sir. I was going to open it on the way 
home, but thought Kate might like it for a surprise.” 

“ Mebbe ’twill prove one for more’n her. Here’s 
hoping. Go on.” 

As fully and frankly as if talking to himself, Cor- 
veau began with the coming of the false-bearded 
fake motion-picture doctor actor to Jake’s garage. 
He repeated what was said and done there and at 
the Jordan ranch. He described the ride down to 
Fish Creek and the meeting with “Jones,” the sup¬ 
posed assistant director. 

At this point Corveau interrupted himself to tell 
how, on the day of the picnic, Lort had run down 
the break to warn Kate of the up-bound train. Drake 
met this with a dry click that sounded like an im¬ 
patient signal to resume. Corveau proceeded to 
give in careful detail his account of the holdup and 
the shooting of the express messenger. 

Now and then the voice outside whispered seem¬ 
ingly artless, casual questions. Some of them en¬ 
abled Corveau to describe more clearly what had 





242 


The Two-Gun Man 


taken place. Others made him hot and prickly. But 
he answered all without hesitation, even when his 
voice shook with shame and anger. 

“ That’s all,” he wound up. “ I’ve given it to you 
straight. But a heap of good it’ll do me! ” 

“ Well, you might get one or two jurors to be¬ 
lieve you — enough to hang the jury, ’stead of your¬ 
self.” 

“No danger. First place, nobody but a fool 
friend or a dam’ fool would believe such a pack of 
lies if I swore myself blue in the face. Second place, 
I’m going to play a dummy hand — refuse to in¬ 
criminate myself.” 

“Meaning, you’ll give him a dead cinch on you? 
Why, with Katie and her pa testifying about the 
fake doc, and the engineer and fireman telling what 
you said to them, you could count on one at least 
of the jury believing your story that you got hoaxed 
into the deal as a movie holdup.” 

“Hoaxed—that’s just it! If I’ve got to hang, 
I’ve got to hang. But good Lord, that’s enough! 
I’ll be hanged if I’ll give him the laugh on me. 
D’you think I’ll ever own up he roped me in for such 
a sucker? You ought to see that. Why, I walked 
right over to him and put my head into his noose.” 

A bony hand thrust in to tap the prisoner’s quiver¬ 
ing shoulder. 

“ Keep on your shirt, son. It might be worse. 



“ Nor Iron Bars a Cage 


243 


ft 


Last report is Bernie may pull through, after all.” 

“ Say—” Corveau choked down the lump in his 
throat— “Say, that’s tiptop! I’d like to shake 
hands with that boy. Never saw a nervier play. 
If he’d been on the other side, I’m betting he’d have 
slid the door shut and made ’em blow it open.” 

“Heh. You said they had it ready — a bomb or 
stick of giant powder.” 

‘‘Didn’t see it. Wasn’t used. They caught him 
w r ide open. But he was game — only he couldn’t 
shoot a little bit. My God! Why did he have to 
go and miss? If only he’d put that second shot be¬ 
tween my eyes, where he aimed! ” 

“Now, now,” soothed the old judge. “’Tain’t 
bad as all that. Don’t you take on so, son. Just 
supposing it comes out you was there as a detective 
dep’ty, risking your life to get onto who was in the 
gang, heh?” 

The suggestion won a gasp from Corveau. 

“Wh-why. But who’d be fool enough to believe 
it?” 

“ Think it over—think it over. You could swear 
without perjury that you had suspicions of the fellow 
you figger on is head of the gang. It’s put a whole 
lot different light on that roped-in-sucker business, 
heh? Make it look like he thought he’d roped a 
sucker, and found he’d caught a Tartar—heh-heh- 
heh! ” 



244 


The Two-Gun Man 


This time Corveau’s voice shook, not with shame 
or anger, but with joyful eagerness. 

“ Judge, they can have me now, and welcome. 
It’s easy enough to die. But to’ve gone under with 
that josh on me! I couldn’t stand it, that’s all! If 
only I ever have a chance to get back at you, judge 
— well, you know where to look. I’ll go to hell 
for you.” 

“Not for me, son. I’m working for this county 
and state and the U. S. I heard you was depytized 
to help run down a gang of bootleggers. Seems like 
that might cover a bunch of train bandits, too. This 
here private interrog’tory has shed some light in 
the darkness, so to speak—taken in connection with 
a bit picked up here and there — from Katie and 
others. That’s why I made her promise not to talk 
to you about the case. Wanted to see how your ac¬ 
counts jibed.” 

So that was it! Corveau grinned his admiration. 
What matter if Lort had out-played him? The 
deputy still had to out-play the little judge. But 
listen! The cracked voice was again whispering: 

“Sort of corrob-rative evidence — that mob first 
starting at Jake’s g’rage, where he left his posse 
when he went to get you. Mebbe it’ll help along 
the back-fire if the trial court finds out somebody 
borrowed some tools from Jake. I’m wearing a 
pair of cotton gloves. Don’t feel on the sill till 



“Nor Iron Bars a Gage 


245 




after I’m gone. The court has no official right to 
get mixed up in surreptitious dealings with pris’ners. 
What’s your idee a caught member of a bootleg- 
holdup gang would do if he got loose?” 

“Why — why—” Corveau groped for the con¬ 
nection— “Well, I expect he’d rejoin the gang.” 

The response was a stifled chuckle and the soft 
fumble of moccasins or slippers on the rungs of a 
ladder. 

Slowly, cautiously — hopeful even though incredu¬ 
lous— Corveau passed his fingers along the iron 
sill of the window. They touched a loose piece of 
metal — the shears, thick and short, that had been 
used to cut the wire screen. Corveau felt farther 
along, beyond a window bar. 

His groping fingers at once closed on a rounded 
greasy object — an oil can. But why an oil can? 
No use stopping to puzzle over that. Feel on! 
Past another window bar; then a sharp, jagged edge, 
a saw, a fine-toothed, thin bladed saw, set like a 
butcher’s saw in an open steel frame. 

What use would a butcher’s saw— Wait! 
Drake had spoken of tools borrowed from Jake’s 
garage. Jake was no butcher. That saw—yes, he 
had seen garage men and other mechanics use ones 
like it. He had seen their saws eat through hard 
steel. These window bars were thick, but they were 
only iron. 





246 


The Two-Gun Man 


Corveau was a man of action, not a Hamlet. 
He did not sit down to ponder over the little judge’s 
ulterior motives or his own feelings. Enough for 
him that he had been given the means to escape. 
Once free, he knew what he was supposed to do and 
what he would stake his life on doing, just as surely 
as a hound set on a blood-trail knows what he is 
there for. 

He started on the bottom of the nearest bar. The 
saw at once began to bite into the iron. But when 
he quickened the stroke, the metal rasped loudly. 
Here was the reason for the oil. Was there not 
always a good reason, or at least a purpose, behind 
whatever that wizened package of shrewdness said 
or did? 

Why not use his own reason a moment? He oiled 
the saw blade, crouched down on his bunk, and 
braced the saw between his belt and the corner of 
the cell. Easy enough then to rub the link of his 
handcuffs along the saw edge. The link was made 
of tough hard steel, but so was the saw. Before 
long the link parted close to the righthand cuff. To 
have his hands free meant far more effective work. 

With both saw and window bar well oiled and a 
corner of the blanket wrapped around for a muffler, 
the sawing of the bar began again. It went even 
faster than he had hoped. But when the blade 
jerked clear, he found that he could neither pull the 




"Nor Iron Bars a Cage ” 


247 


bar in nor push it out. It first had to be sawed half 
through near the top. 

Reaching up to the top of the window made very 
hard work. By the time the third cut bar bent in 
and upwards to his tug and thrust he was drenched 
with sweat. But he stopped only to tie saw, shears 
and oil can in his neckerchief and sling them outside 
from the fourth bar. 

His hat would fall without noise. He shoved it 
out through the opening. His boots he drew on. 
He might have to jump and run if someone had 
heard the sawing and come to investigate. 

To pull himself up into the window was no easy 
matter. It was an awkward, seemingly impossible 
arm-lift of his total weight. No step for his foot. 
Twice he strained to the limit of his strength, only 
to sink back upon the bunk, out-spent. It was mad¬ 
dening to lie there with that open hole mocking him. 

The way, when he thought of it, was very simple. 
Instead of struggling to drag his head and shoulders 
up over the sill, he grasped the inbent bars, walked 
up the wall, and slid through the window feet fore¬ 
most. Midway, a twist turned him face downwards. 
His feet felt for and found the rungs of the ladder. 

Two minutes later he was around at the front of 
the jail, with the loaded neckerchief and the ladder. 
Common sense told him to vamose muy pronto. It 
was silly to linger even for an instant. But he had 




248 


The Two-Gun Man 


his pride to consider. Also, where he hoped to go, 
it would be well to have along a pair of friends 
whose trustworthiness he knew. 

Cautiously, in the faint starlight, he was raising 
the ladder to the front window of the jailor’s office 
when he remembered something. The chance was 
worth trying. Kate liked plenty of fresh air. He 
took the shears around with him. Easy enough to 
cut and unlatch the rear screen door. But the solid 
door, though ajar, was on a burglar chain. 

He fetched steel-saw, neckerchief and oil can, and 
sawed through the chain, close to the door jamb. 
Boots in hand, he slipped into the kitchen. No cat 
could have crept through a house more noiselessly. 

The fact that all the inner doors were open helped 
a little, yet increased the chances of discovery. As 
he glided through the dining-room past Kate’s cubby¬ 
hole bedroom he knew he was less than a foot from 
the head of her cot. He felt very grateful for the 
steady snores of her father, from the cot in the 
dining-room. 

When he came into the office he swung the door 
shut behind him. It creaked slightly. There was 
no bolt or key on either side. He felt his way across 
the room, slipped the massive bolts of the front 
door, and set it ajar. After this precaution, he 
groped for the desk, opened it, and took out his 
cartridge belt and revolvers. # 



" Nor Iron Bars a Cage ” 


249 


A sudden flood of light struck the wall at his 
right — swept around — filled the whole room. He 
whirled, with one of his forty-fives out-thrust. The 
hand that held the weapon dropped down beside his 
thigh. 

Kate stood in the dining-room doorway, a lamp 
upraised in her left hand, and a sawed-off double- 
barreled shotgun leveled on her right hip. 

“ Oh! ” she whispered. u So it’s you, Sidney ? ” 

He paid no heed to the unwavering muzzle of the 
shotgun. He was staring at her face. 

“ My goodness, Kate! With that frilly white 
robe and your hair all down that way, you look just 
like pictures of angels — only more so! ” 

A wave of scarlet swept over Kate’s face and 
firm round throat. If only she might run away and 
hide before he perceived the nature of her “robe” ! 
But she could not run. She had her duty to per¬ 
form. She must do it. The down-sagged shotgun 
swung up again. It pointed straight at Corveau. 

“Sidney, what are you doing out of your cell?” 

“ Sitting into the game again. I’ve just drawn a 
pair of sixes. Looks like you hold a royal flush.” 

“Don’t joke. Go back into the cellroom this 
minute.” 

Corveau stood perfectly still. 

“Listen, Kate. I’m not joking. You can either 
let me go, or kill me. There’s no third way to it.” 



250 


The Two-Gun Man 


“ Yes, there is. I can shoot low.” 

Very quietly Corveau turned his drawn revolver 
upwards and raised it until the muzzle pressed under 
his chin. 

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s the best way. 
You’ll get the credit for preventing my escape, with¬ 
out having to do the actual killing. They’ll say I 
was afraid to face trial. But what does that matter? 
Shoot! It’s all one to me. I thought that hair 
meant something. Long as it doesn’t, I’m ready to 
cash in my chips and pay the devil his due.” 

The girl’s eyes widened with horror. The shot¬ 
gun sagged down again. She set the lamp on a 
stand and drew the door shut. 

“Oh, Sidney!” she gasped. “Surely, surely you 
can’t mean it! Self-murder is a dreadful sin.” 

“ Not half as bad as letting you murder me.” 

“But—but I can’t let you escape, Sidney. You 
know I can’t! ” 

“ I know it now. Would you rather I did my part 
without you having to cripple me? You can tell ’em 
you cornered me, and I bumped myself off rather 
than be locked up again. It would be the honest 
truth.” 

“No! oh, no, no! I’d sooner do it myself. I’d 
be performing my sworn duty. But for you to kill 
yourself — that’s murder! Yet if I let you go away, 
they’ll say it proves you are guilty.” 

\ 



“Nor Iron Bars a Cage” 


251 


“Just what I’m hoping.” 

“Hoping? You want people to believe you 
guilty! ” 

Corveau thrust the forty-five into its holster, be¬ 
side its companion. 

“ Listen, Kate. You haven’t asked how I got in 
here. You take for granted your father unlocked 
my cell and came out and forgot to lock the cell- 
room door. Well, he didn’t. Now you go back to 
bed and forget you waked up. When, tomorrow 
morning, it’s discovered I’m gone, everybody will 
know I received outside help. All I ask is for you 
to agree with ’em that I’m bad and that I’ve proved 
my guilt by running away.” 

“Then — then you won’t stay — not even to please 
me?” 

“No, and you’ll not ask me to. I’m going now, 
Kate. I’ll not tell you where or why. I must play 
the game lone-handed. But here in my pocket—” 
Corveau put his hand over his heart, “ here is what 
you gave me, that fool-the-devil hair. I’m telling 
myself it means you believe in me.” 

Kate began to tremble. She half raised the shot¬ 
gun, lowered it, and flung out her left hand towards 
the front door. 

“ Go, go quick! ” she whispered. “ Hurry, before 
I can change my mind! ” 

He was already at the ponderous door. As he 



252 


The Two-Gun Man 


slipped outside and tugged to shut it, he glimpsed 
the white-clad girl sinking down into a chair, with 
her hand before her eyes. He darted around the 
corner of the jail and halted to jump into his boots. 

The irrepressible humor of him bubbled up, to 
twist a quirk in the corners of his lips. 

“ Saved 1” he chuckled. “Saved—by a hair!” 



CHAPTER XXII 

TAKEN IN OR TAKEN ON ? 


W OULD Kate take his advice and go back to 
bed, or would she change her mind and 
“bust loose” with the alarm? One roar of that 
sawed-off shotgun would clear her of complicity in 
his escape and waken the town. 

He did not stop to debate the question. The in¬ 
stant his foot jerked into the second boot he dashed 
off across lots, buckling on his cartridge belt as he 
ran. He vaulted a picket fence, angled across a 
market garden, and crawled through a barbed wire 
fence into a little-used back street. It led to the 
upper edge of Elk, opposite the rear of the Jordan 
corral. 

Luck favored him. Kate evidently had not 
changed her mind. No less evidently, her father 
had not wakened and forced her hand. The quiet 
of the night continued unbroken by gunshots or out¬ 
cries. 

When he came panting and stumbling to the 
ranch, luck again gave him the break of the game. 
He groped his way into the stable and ventured to 
light the lantern that always hung beside the door. 
His mare whinnied to him from the stall where he 


253 




254 


The Two-Gun Man 


had left her on his gay return from the “movie” 
train robbery. 

Down at the house, by standing up in his saddle, 
he was able to climb on the roof of the porch. No 
trouble getting in at the window of his bedroom. 
He pulled down the shade and lit a candle. While 
making up his bed roll he heard the old grandfather’s 
clock downstairs boom out eleven strokes. 

From a slit in the head of the bed mattress he 
drew a certain small flat automatic pistol. He 
slipped it into the front of his scarlet girdle, paused, 
considered, and hastened to Kate’s room. He came 
back with the wire crown of an old hat frame. 

His new hat was about the same color as his 
sombrero, and its crown was nearly as large. With 
some horsehair from the old mattress he packed 
the automatic in the peak of the sombrero, and fitted 
in the wire frame. He then cut off the crown of his 
new hat, covered the wire with it, and turned back 
into place the sweatband of the sombrero. 

The unique lining made the sombrero rather a 
tight fit on his head and increased its weight over 
a pound. But from its appearance, inside as well as 
out, no one would have suspected what the big silver- 
banded Mexican hat harbored in its high peaL 

“Heavy, heavy hangs over your head,” quoted 
Corveau. “ Weighty little argument. Nothing like 
having an ace up your sleeve, eh?” 



Taken In or Taken On? 


255 


As final precautions, he muffled the glint and 
l jingle of his spurs with bits of rag and tied a fresh 
dark neckerchief across his face. When he jogged 
away up the state highway on the black mare, only 
the clop-clop of her hoofs told of their passage 
through the dim starlight. 

But as they neared the fork of the Coldwell road 
he saw the hopping beam of a car’s lights at the 
highway curve, on beyond. He recalled a big sign¬ 
board advertising Jake’s garage. It stood close to 
the fork, its face angled to meet the gaze of all 
tourists bound for Elk, whether coming on the high¬ 
way or the Coldwell branch. 

By quick spurring Corveau jumped the mare 
ahead to the forks. They were in behind the sign¬ 
board before the swiftly approaching car slued its 
brilliant searchlights on around the curve. In day¬ 
light the black legs of the mare would have been 
clearly visible between the signboard posts. But the 
dazzling beams of the lamps on the road itself ob¬ 
scured all lesser lighted objects, even those close 
alongside. 

As the car whizzed past it was lighted by the 
glaring lamps of a following car. Corveau had 
crouched low over his mare’s withers. Through a 
crack between the boards of the sign he caught one 
clear glimpse of the first car. Lort sat at the wheel. 
Beside and back of him the car was packed with 



256 


The Two-Gun Man 


heavily armed men. Bill, the court bailiff, had 
leaned out to look back at the other car. 

“ Mighty good bluff,” Corveau told himself. 
“ Bull’s been out to make a show of looking for the 
gang. Took uncle’s man along to prove it. Like as 
not, uncle taunted him into going. Neat way to get 
him out of town.” 

The second car roared past after Lort’s. Cor¬ 
veau spurred the mare into a dash up the Coldwell 
road. Once clear of the highway, he allowed her 
to take her own pace. Horses see better at night 
than human beings. 

Corveau gave all his attention to watching out 
for automobile lights, particularly to the rear. But 
Lort did not come racing on the road to his ranch. 
Corveau began to consider how he best could accom¬ 
plish his purpose. By the time he reached the 
canon fork of the road he had his general plan of 
action laid out. 

Day was breaking when he came through the 
young spruce trees back of Coldwell. He crossed 
the creek, looked in the barn, and went back to 
knock at the rear door of the house. A sleepy voice 
called out a sullen demand: 

“Whatjew want?” 

“ Sh-s-sh! Message for the boss,” answered Cor¬ 
veau, his tongue in his cheek. 

Dorcy had been taught when to step lively. Bolts 



Taken In or Taken On? 


257 


rattled. The door jerked open. The storekeeper 
thrust out his frowsy head. 

“ Y’ don’t mean they’ve got onto— Huh! 
You!” 

“ Lemme in quick, Gig. Hide me before some¬ 
body comes along. I’ve busted out of the cala¬ 
boose.” 

“Out—busted out? Lord! Just when he fig- 
gered he had you all sewed up in a sack/” 

“You’ve said it, Gig. I’ve gone and tightened 
up the strings on myself by breaking jail. If I’d 
stayed quiet and faced the music I might have drawn 
a hung jury out of the deal. But you know what 
it’ll look like, my vamosing.” 

Dorcy peered worriedly towards the road and 
licked his dry lips. 

“ Hit out, Sid! For the Lord’s sake, beat it ’fore 
they find you here! I throwed you, Sid; but you 
know he made me. If he found I took you in, he’d 
skin me alive! ” 

“Not when he hears what I have to say. You’re 
going to phone to his ranch for me— Yes, you are, 
if I have to hold a gun to t’other ear from the re¬ 
ceiver.” 

Gray as the dawn, Dorcy fumbled his way through 
the cluttered house to his telephone, Corveau follow¬ 
ing close at his shoulder. 

“ Here y’are, ol’ hossthief. Ring ’em up. Needn’t 



'258 


The Two-Gun Man 


say who ’tis. I’ll do my own talking. Ask for the 
boss. If he ain’t — isn’t—home, make it Al; and 
don’t be all day about it, you poor miserable knock- 
kneed skunk.” 

Down came the receiver in Dorcy’s shaking hand. 
The moment the connection had been made, Corveau 
shoved him aside and took his place. 

“ ’Lo, Al. Ain’t you glad? I done busted out of 

the corral.What! Do I hear cussing? 

Don’t meant to say you ain’t ready to fall all over 
yourself barbecuing the fatted calf for me? . . . . 
Aw, come off. The boss never’d think of barbecu¬ 
ing me! Listen. You know, well’s he does, he’s got 
me into the hole clean over my head—as bad as 
the rest of you. If they catch me again it may mean 
the noose.” 

Corveau paused to jerk his thumb at the sideling 
storekeeper. 

“Just stick round this side, Gig, where I can keep 
an eye on you. I’m feeling sort of nervous— Hey? 
What’s that, Al, ol’ dear? Oh, me getting the noose 
is just what the boss means, you say. Well, that’s 
no news. Only, let me tell you, the noose is big 
enough to hold his neck, too.” 

A gasp from Dorcy won a grin from his guest. 

“Hey? All right. Call him up. Tell him for 
me, he’s made me lose the girl, and I’ll be caught 
again if he won’t take me into the bunch. I’m onto 




Taken In or Taken On? 


259 


the whole works, Al, cave and all. Same time, I’m 
up against it hard. You can tell him I’m going to 
get in on the inside, or I’m going to hit for town 
and spill the beans to old Drake. Oh, I dassn’t, 
eh? All right, if you think I’m bluffing, just call me 
for a show-down. I’ll give you a quarter hour. 
It’s up to him. Either^the bunch takes me in, or the 
bunch takes me on.” 

Without waiting for a reply, Corveau slammed 
the receiver on its hook and grinned at Dorcy. 

“How ’bout a bite of chuck while we wait, Gig? 
I’ve put in some tough work night-wrangling over 
round the falls and ranch.” 

“Lord!” gasped Dorcy. “You slick lobof 
Nosed round all them spring-guns, and didn’t get 
leaded!” 

Ants crawled up and down Corveau’s spine. His 
frequent blunderings off the trails in the darkness 
must have happened just right to take him around 
the death-traps. Luck alone had saved him. But 
he was not going to refuse the credit for it. 

“Slick is right, Gig. Trot out your eats. No 
time for hot chuck. No pickles this time, and none 
your ginger ale. I don’t touch a drop of moon till 
I’m safe with the bunch.” 

The dawn was now light enough even in the dirty- 
windowed store for Corveau to see the food hastily 
set out by Dorcy. He fell to with heartiness, un- 



260 


The Two-Gun Man 


troubled by the separated steel bracelets on his 
wrists. When the bell of the telephone rang he 
sprang to take down the receiver. In reply to his 
cheerful, “Hello. Yes?” the surly voice of A1 
mumbled in his ear: 

“ Boss says to take you in.” 

“ Come to Gig’s and get me,” directed Corveau. 
“You can drive the flivver that you use for you know 
what.” 

Over the wire came a startled smothered sound. 
Corveau hung up and filled his overall pockets with 
chipped beef and raisins. 

“ I’ll lay out, Gig, case they try to pull any posse 
business on me.” 

Half a mile in on the side road to Stack Falls 
Ranch he sat down to wait behind a spruce. A 
small car soon came chugging. It held only the 
cross-eyed driver. Corveau stepped out in front of 
it, brisk and cheerful. 

“ Morning, Al. You showed good sense, coming 
alone. Two’s company. Nice place here to turn 
round.” 

The cross-eyed man seemed to look all ways at 
once. 

“Where’s your hoss, kid?” 

“ Lots of things can happen to a nag, chasing over 
rocks and down-timber at night, Al. It was too far 
to lug my saddle. Maybe Bull will throw in a new 



Taken In or Taken On? 


261 


one and a bronc, along with my split in the big haul. 
Don’t forget he owes me a new bronc for the one 
you did for at the bridge.” 

A1 grunted and turned the car around. Corveau 
swung into the seat beside him. 

“Forget it, honey. That haul was so big you 
oughtn’t to grudge me my slice of the cake. I’d 
have come in last night and helped you with the 
mail-clerking, only I hadn’t been introduced to those 
doorkeepers with scatterguns. How much does she 
stack up?” 

“ Dunno,” growled Al. “ Boss come and cached 
the big stuff soon’s we spotted the right pouch. Rest 
is panning out mighty small.” 

Corveau suddenly lost his smile. He spoke in 
an anxious tone: 

“ Cached it, you say? Y’ don’t mean you think 
he figures on throwing the bunch, gyping us out of 
our split?” 

“ I didn’t say it. I didn’t say nothing ’g’inst the 
boss,” disclaimed Al, his voice sharp with alarm. 

“ Didn’t say it, but you know what you think. If 
he meant to play fair, why didn’t he tell the bunch 
where he cached it?” 

“He showed one the boys, but ordered him not 
to tell. Fewer know, the safer. He’s got to come 
through. If he don’t-” 

Al’s voice died out in a surly mutter. Corveau 









262 


The Two-Gun Man 


lolled back ia his seat, once more smiling. He had 
inserted a drop of poison into the cross-eyed man’s 
loyalty to the boss. Vastly more important, he had 
learned that the deputy had kept possession of all 
the loot, instead of shipping it away by “Jones” 
and “Vandyke.” 

“ I’ll have to own up that Bull has a head on him, 
Al. Only risk was running the truck up the high¬ 
way to take on the pouches. Of course doc took his 
fake whiskers off, and nobody but me saw Jones. 
All they had to do was meander for Denver in their 
decoy cars. Pair of lone tourists enjoying the 
scenery. No connections a-tall with that bunch of 
Wild West bandits.” 

The right side of Al’s crooked mouth screwed up 
in a grin. His cross-fire left eye gave Corveau a 
knowing wink. Here was progress-—fair promise 
of acceptance into the fellowship of the gang. 

The flivver had been running up and down and 
around hills through a rather close-set forest of 
pines. Beyond a last sharp turn it came to the fence 
and gate of a great field of oats. Over back of the 
wooded ridge on the far side rose the great red- 
granite thumb top of the Stack, backed by the 
equally high pine-dark ridge on the west side of the 
canon. 

The weight of the car on a lever opened the 
patent gate, which swung shut when the wheels 



Taken In or Taken On? 


263 


passed over the inside lever. The car curved across 
through the midst of the oats along a well-graded 
road. At the far border of the field it climbed a 
low pass through the wooded ridge. 

Down in the valley on the west side Corveau saw 
the huge barn, corral, sheds and little old house that 
he had seen pictured in Kate’s album of snapshots. 
A grove of aspens masked all except a comer of the 
lettuce field on beyond and the big bend made by the 
creek before crooking back around to plunge into the 
canon at the base of the Stack. 

“ Get your Mex lid down out of sight, kid,” said 
Al. “Them three Swede milk-grabbers ain’t in on 
the game. I’ll rattle through without stopping. 
The boss may turn up with a posse to ask, have we 
seen a bunch of train robbers up this way.” 

As the flivver coasted down past the barn the 
low purr of an engine told that the Swede dairymen 
were busy with their mechanical milking. Down be¬ 
yond the half-harvested head lettuce field the road 
led through the gate of a new wire fence and over 
the creek on an old log bridge. 

A half mile farther, half way across the grove 
and thicket dotted bend of the creek the road ended 
at the old original bunk-house and branding-chute 
corral of the ranch. This place was still the most 
convenient location for the cowboys who had care 
of all Lort’s stock except the cows in the dairy barn. 







264 


The Two-Gun Man 


A hard-faced puncher stepped from the bunk- 
house door to stare at the passenger in the flivver. 
At the same time Corveau’s sharp eye glimpsed the 
muzzle of a pumpgun in the corner of the high 
slide-window. He leaned over close to Al. But the 
cross-eyed man made a signal to the puncher and 
drove around to the far side of the corral. There 
he stopped to reconsider. 

“ Mebbe we ought to wait for the boss at the 
bunk-house.” 

“What if he comes with that posse? They’d 
grab me, and he’d never forgive you for it. Best 
take me right on to the still cave.” 

Al sullenly shouted for the puncher to fetch the 
car. He himself started off along one of the several 
cow trails that led away from the corral. Corveau 
could see nothing except split-hoof tracks in the 
trail. 

“Pretty slick,” he said. “Was it Bull’s own idea, 
packing the stuff ’cross here on steers?” 

“Nope — me and Lefty. We seen a greaser 
smuggle it in that way over the Border. He had a 
bunch of longhorn steers. One was broke for riding 
as a cow pony.” 



CHAPTER XXIII 

PLAYING ’POSSUM 


HE Stack towered higher and higher as the 



JL trail twisted and wriggled around thickets and 
clumps of trees towards the head of the canon. Cor- 
veau’s glance flicked back and forth from the huge 
column to the bushes beside the path. 

At three places he noticed broken twigs where 
the bushes had been pushed into from behind. But 
A1 walked past without any high stepping. The trip 
strings or wires of the spring-guns had been un¬ 
fastened for the day. 

Beyond the third man-trap a worn but disused 
trail forked off towards the left base of the Stack. 
This was the path that visitors formerly had taken 
to get the upper view of the falls, before Lort closed 
the approaches. It was the way Corveau had come 
during the night, after crawling along that slippery 
shelf of rock above the falls. 

The cattle-trod fork led off to the right or north 
side of the Stack. On its south and east faces, as 
on the west, the immense granite thumb rose sheer 
from base to summit. The north side tapered in a 
little, and above its first unbroken twenty-foot rise 
a ragged fissure ran up the steep pitch. But in places 




266 


The Two-Gun Man 


even this possible way of ascent appeared to smooth 
out into a flat surface that offered no hold for hand 
or foot. 

Corveau turned his attention back to the bushes 
beside the path. He saw no more broken twigs. 
Al was leading him around the north base of the 
Stack. He expected a tedious scramble over the 
broken rocks of the west side, all the way across to 
the mouth of the cave, about the canon. 

“Why didn’t you take the short-cut ’longside the 
falls?” he asked. 

“ ’Scuse me! ” said Al. “ I ain’t one them high 
divers. You’d need a rope to get across that slip¬ 
pery shelf. ’Sides, this way’s nigh as near.” 

A few paces farther along he stepped up a ledge 
of bare rock. The cattle-marked trail ran on into 
a grassy hollow northwest of the Stack. Corveau 
took a glance at it as he followed Al up the ledges. 
Perhaps there the gang loaded their moonshine. 

Al stepped up into a corner between two enor¬ 
mous boulders and pulled aside a mass of dead 
brush. Corveau saw a low, narrow, iron-banded 
door set in the rock like a mine entrance. Al thrust 
in a key of the Yale type and drew the door open. 
Out gushed a sickening rush of sour air. 

“Great skunks!” cried Corveau. “Nobody ever 
heard me kick over the taste. But this smell — 
whew! ” 



Playing ’Possum 


267 


“ It’s on’y the pocket up at this end the hole,” 
said Al. “ Down below it sucks up the hole we 
blasted for a chimney, and it’s all drawed clean 
into the sky. Seems like thay’s air pulling up this 
side the Stack all the time. Shut the door after 
you, kid.” 

Corveau had been rolling a cigarette. He fol¬ 
lowed into the narrow cave tunnel and closed the 
door. As the snap lock clicked he struck a match 
and held it to his cigarette. Nobody was going to 
shoot him like a rat in a hole. 

But Al did not even glance around. He led on to 
a sharp turn. Here the passage widened and sloped 
down rather steeply. Beyond a second turn it 
opened up into a roomy cave. 

Close on the right rose tier on tier of high-stacked 
jugs and cylinder cans. To the left stood many bar¬ 
rels of fermenting mash. But the great copper still 
in between had no fire under its boiler. 

Al led around the still to where, in the bright glare 
of a miner’s carbide lamp, five men, seated on sacks 
of grain, were busily slitting open and examining 
letters. At one side of each was a half-emptied mail 
pouch; on the other side a heap of discarded papers 
and envelopes. In the midst of their circle was the 
soapbox into which they were tossing everything of 
value found in the registered packets and ordinary 
mail. 





268 


The Two-Gun Man 


Amidst the bonds and bank notes that already 
half filled the box, Corveau saw more than one 
sparkling piece of jewelry. Such articles had all 
been registered. But it was astonishing how many 
people had sent bonds and paper money in unregis¬ 
tered letters. If this was the small stuff, what a 
whopping haul the big loot must have been! 

“’Lo, gents,” he greeted. “No, don’t reach for 
your guns. A1 and Lefty’ll tell you it ain’t — is not 
— healthy. Besides, you know A1 was bringing 
me.” 

The volunteer mail clerks scowled and returned 
to their sorting, all except the uneasy-eyed Lefty. 
Corveau grinned at him. 

“That’s it, Lefty. You always did love me most. 
What d’you say I set in with you and do my share 
towards chipping into the jackpot?” 

“Uk-uh — no, you don’t! You’re too quick with 
your hands. You could slip a whole deck of these 
here cards up your sleeve, and nobody catch — 
Huh-huh-hold on! Don’t shoot, kid! I was on’y 
funning. Lemme set you up, kid. I got a jug of 
good ripe juice ready waiting for you.” 

“Um-m-m!” Corveau smacked his lips. “Ripe, 
you say? Lead me to it! ” 

Lefty jumped up. A1 started to take his place, but 
paused for a suspicious stare at Corveau. 

“You told Gig you’d swore off.” 




Playing ’Possum 


269 


“Sure. Been dry for a year. All that time to 
make up for now. Been trying to go straight. Fig¬ 
ured I could get Bull’s girl away from him. But 
now! Come on, Lefty.” 

He followed the tempter to the row of dirty bed 
rolls spread out behind piled sacks of sugar and 
grain, near the narrow sideward-twisted front en¬ 
trance of the cave. Back of the beds, against the 
£ave wall, stood a rack full of rifles and pumpguns. 

Lefty took a full gallon jug from behind one of 
the sugar piles and filled a tin cup with the color¬ 
less “white mule.” 

“Here’s how! ” saluted Corveau. 

But instead of accepting the cup, he caught up 
the jug in his left hand, twisted it back over his left 
elbow, and uptilted the opening to his mouth. He 
held it there while the slyly grinning Lefty emptied 
the tin cup down his own throat. 

Corveau smacked his lips. He seemed lost to 
everything in heaven and earth except the jug. Lefty 
■went back to nudge A1 with his toe and jerk his 
head towards the newcomer. The two-gun kid had 
sat down and was again lifting the jug to his lips. 

“Gug-gug!” gurgled one of the mail sorters. 
“ Say, I wouldn’t mind a slug my ownself. This 
here’s mighty dry work. Trot out a ripe jug for us, 
too, Lefty.” 

Everyone seconded the motion. Lefty brought a 





270 


The Two-Gun Man 


full jug, which promptly began to circulate round 
and round the soapbox. Corveau’s attention re¬ 
mained fixed on his own jug. After several uptilt- 
ings he began to sing. Presently he got up and 
jigged around the cave. When he reached the rear, 
his singing drowned the gurgle of moonshine into 
the barrel farthest behind the still. 

By midday his voice had thickened and his step 
had become a trifle unsteady. Pie refused to share 
the hasty noon meal of the mail sorters. During the 
afternoon he quit singing and became morose. He 
lurched into the front entrance passage of the cave. 

A1 and another man ran to stop him from going 
out. He clutched his revolver hilts and muttered 
something about free air and the sunshine of her 
smile. A1 drew the other man back into the cave. 

“ Leave him go,” he growled. “ The kid’s stewed 
enough to rip loose with both guns if we rub his 
fur the wrong way. Leave him go out if he likes. 
Boss won’t weep if he breaks his fool neck on them 
jump-offs, or snags a trigger string. Even if, he 
don’t, he’ll be dead to the world inside a hour. Ask 
Lefty. We seen the kid knock himself cold more’n 
once, down in Arizony.” 

Out around the corner of the cave entrance Cor- 
veau grinned and slithered noisdy down a rock slide 
into the shade of a big pine. From there he stag¬ 
gered zigzag along the tops of the rocks that over- 



Playing f Possum 


271 


hung the steep descent into the canon. 

Beyond all doubt, his escape during the darkness 
had been due to a blunder. He had climbed one of 
the steepest of the little cliffs. The only two places 
of easy ascent were guarded by spring-guns. One 
of the damnable man-traps lay under the ground- 
matted branches of a spruce. The other was wedged 
down between two boulders. Both were out of sight 
from the cave mouth. He drew their cartridges, 
took out the buckshot and powder, and returned the 
empty shells to the barrels. 

When he reeled back into the cave, stubbornly 
clinging to the jug, it was half empty. He slumped 
down, just inside, and went through the motions of 
drinking himself into a stupor. Towards dusk he 
sprawled out, with his sombrero askew, his face half 
behind the jug, and one arm limp across his waist. 
No one could have looked more absolutely dead 
drunk. 

Less than an hour later Lort came in at the rear 
of the cave. He halted in the shadow of the still, 
to stare across at the prone form beside the jug. A1 
laughed jeeringly. 

“’Sail right, boss. He’s harmless as a fang- 
pulled rattler. That tip Gig gave you worked all 
right. The young booze hound lapped up the stuff 
just like he always done down in Arizony.” 

“ Good work,” said Lort. “ Better hog-tie him—* 



272 


The Two-Gun Man 


No, I want him caught with the goods. Keep him 
stewed. We’ll stuff him with a lot of the non- 
negotiable bonds, a package of small bills and some 
of the plated jewelry, and drop him with his jug 
round on the state highway.” 

“What if he squeals?” 

“ Let him. All the more fun for us. Who’ll 
believe a drunken soak caught with the goods? 
Everybody knows he’s sore at me and jealous. 
We’ll blow the boulders down into the cave holes 
and ask old Drake himself to come look. They’ll 
see that this fourflusher is only lying to do me dirt. 
No cave here at all. Anyhow, the moon game is 
all off now.” 

“You’re the doctor,” said Al. “ Reckon I’ll beat 
it with Lefty. He’s got old Drake on his trail, and 
Sid can give ’em uncomf’tuble references ’g’inst 
both Lefty and me.” 

“ Man, you’ve said a mouthful. All of the bunch 
who have records will hit out and lose themselves 
till this blows over. That’s you and Mears, Lefty, 
Red and Tobin. I’ll first railroad this meddling 
booze kid to the pen — with old Drake’s help! 
How’s that for a joke? Then, in a month or two, 
the old cackler is apt to meet with an accident. 
With both out of the way, we can resume operations. 
Jordan can’t see past his fat nose.” 

One of the mail sorters took a swig from the jug 



Playing ’Possum 


273 


beside the soapbox, wiped his mouth with his dirty 
shirt sleeve, and yawned wearily. 

u E-e-yow! I done busted my back and ’most 
wore my lingers off. Le’s call it a day, fellers.” 

Lort scowled at the jug and the mail pouches, and 
kicked over the jug. It was nearer to being empty 
than were the pouches. 

“Thought so! You’re half shot yourselves — 
whole bunch of you. I told you to get this cleaned 
up by dark. I’ve stalled them off from roaming 
round here tpday. But that ten thousand reward 
has the whole town and county boiling. They’ll 
swarm all over everywhere tomorrow.” 

“Aw, shucks,” derided Al. “We got on’y to light 
the fuses, a hour or so ’fore dawn, and hit west 
into the mountains. Thay’s one thing first, though. 
We don’t go till you bring round that express bag 
and give lis our split.” 

“Of course.” Lort took out his watch. “Got 
to keep up my alibi . I’ll run north to look at a sus¬ 
pect they’ve got jailed at Pine Center. Dorcy can 
relay to me if Jake phones any fresh tip. I’ll come 
back about three A. M. Red and Tobin will fetch 
saddle and pack horses round to the hollow. Get 
busy now.” 

All the men fell to opening letters and packets. 
Lort turned back up the rear passage. But the 
moment the slam of the door reverberated down the 



274 


The Two-Gun Man 


tunnel Lefty dropped his work to fetch another jug. 

“Tank up while we can/’ he said. “Like’s not 
we won’t get a sniff of nothing better’n wood alcohol 
till we get back here ag’in.” 

The second jug circulated briskly during the hour 
that passed before the last mail pouch was emptied. 
By that time everyone had drunk too much to care 
for food. Al, walking none too steadily, took one 
of the buckshot-loaded pumpguns from the rack at 
the cave front and went outside to stand guard. The 
others drank deep from the jug before rolling them¬ 
selves in their blankets. The last man down put out 
the carbide light. 

In Corveau’s frequent mouthings of his jug he 
had been unable wholly to keep from swallowing 
an occasional thimbleful of the fiery liquor. It had 
not been enough to affect his activity, either physical 
or mental, but it had blurred his judgment. By in¬ 
hibiting his common sense, it had given free rein to 
his all-too-ready love of risks and of playing the long 
shot. 

He need only have waited until the men slept. 
Easy enough then to have gagged and tied them, 
held up and tied Al, and waited for Lort. But this 
lacked exciting action and the spice of real danger. 
Something more spectacular suited him better. He 
craved publicity for his gun-play. 

Before the light went out he had located a hog- 



Playing ’Possum 


275 


ging-string. He lay waiting in the darkness not over 
five minutes; then crept around the bend of the en¬ 
trance passage. A1 sat at the outer opening, half 
fuddled, his face turned towards the foot of the 
falls. Corveau crept close and tapped him hard on 
top of the head with a revolver butt. 

Leaving the senseless man hidden behind a 
boulder, hog-tied and gagged with his own necker¬ 
chief, Corveau scrambled to the bottom of the 
canon and set off down the trail as fast as he could 
feel his way. Near the lower end, in the grassy 
little side cleft of a spring rill, he came to his pick¬ 
eted mare. 

Except a momentary halt at the fence while Cor¬ 
veau cut the wires, the mare held to a steady lope 
all the way down the valley. As they neared the 
state highway Corveau saw cars coming and going 
like gigantic excited lightning-bugs. He waited for 
an opening, dashed across in the dark, cut the fence 
on the other side, and circled to the Jordan ranch 
house. 

A light in the parlor told him someone was home. 
He peered in at the window. Kate was alone. She 
sat with her head bowed over the keyboard of the 
organ. She was playing, very softly, the songs they 
had sung together. Evidently her father was in 
town or out with one of the posses, and she was sit¬ 
ting up for his return. 



276 


The Two-Gun Man 


As she finished playing the tune of another song 
the door behind her opened a few inches. With the 
jar of its shutting, a half-foot stub of planed board 
clattered on the carpet. 

Kate was not the shrieking kind. She looked over 
her shoulder, saw the board, and quietly rose to 
pick it up. On the smooth face were words written 
in broad, pale lines. She was near enough the Old 
West to guess that the pencil used had been a soft- 
nosed bullet. The words read like a telegram: 

“Tell pa and uncle fetch posse 
your cave 5 A. M. meet Bull ” 

No need of a signature. Only one other person 
beside herself knew about the cave, at least as her 
cave. Her eyes shone radiant through glistening 
tears. He had broken jail, not to escape, but 
to—— 

She hastened to the telephone. Central did not 
answer. Many persons in the excited town were 
using their telephones. Still, that was no reason 
why central should not respond to her repeated 
calls. 

Some time passed before the thought occurred to 
her that the wires had been cut. Her father had 
the flivver, and all their saddle horses had been 
loaned to friends who were out scouring the hills. 
She would have to walk into town. 




CHAPTER XXIV 


OUT OF THE TRAP 

H ALF a mile beyond the crossing of the high¬ 
way Corveau again cut a telephone line, this 
time the cable that ran past Coldwell. No use of 
getting up a surprise party, and then letting Jake 
or some other capper tip off the game to the sur- 
prisee. 

He allowed the mare to lope most of the way to 
the forks. The chance of meeting cars made loiter¬ 
ing too risky. But beyond the forks he reined in 
the willing animal to a walk. 

When he crawled up the rocks to the cave he 
found A! a few feet down from where he had been 
left. The hog-tie had been too well knotted to 
work loose, but the prisoner had almost freed his 
mouth from the gag. Corveau refastened it and 
whispered a cheerful warning: 

“ Go far’s you like, Al. One more wiggle will 
flop you over the cliff. But keep your head shut, gag 
or no gag, if you don’t want it ventilated with a 
forty-five.” 

The writhing prisoner became as still as a slum¬ 
bering babe. Corveau crept into the cave and out 
up the rear passage. On the inside the lock of the 

277 


278 


The Two-Gun Man 


door opened with a knob. To keep the door from 
swinging shut, he stuck in a branch of the dead 
brush. 

Slight as was the chance of any spring-guns on 
along the trail to the hollow, he kept off to one side. 
As he neared the grassy opening he heard the clink 
of a horseshoe on a stone. He called in a drunken 
mumble: 

“Hi-ick! Gah jug f’you. One you come’n gi’ 
it.” 

Willing feet hurried along the trail. A hoarse 
voice sang out eagerly: 

“Where am she at, buddy?” 

Corveau stepped clear of a tree trunk behind the 
inquirer and shoved a muzzle between his broad 
shoulders. 

“Quick and quiet,” he warned. “Ups-a-daisy! 
That’s the wise boy.” 

His hand deftly emptied the puncher’s holster. 

“Now kiss the dirt and cross ’em on your back.” 

Within a few moments the man was lying face 
down in the trail, his hands tied behind him, his 
ankles lashed to an aspen, and a gag fast in his 
mouth. The other wrangler proved still easier. 
Snores led Corveau to where he lay rolled in his 
blankets. 

But all the groping about among rocks and trees 
and the going and coming on trail and road had 



Out of the Trap 


279 


taken more time than Corveau realized. Also, other 
persons had moved faster than calculated. As he 
strolled back along the trail he heard the click of 
heavy heels on the ledges ahead. 

He glided forward and up the rocks to the cave 
entrance — only to hear the click of the closed door. 
There was no time to make the difficult climb around 
over the jagged crags to the front of the cave. Who¬ 
ever had gone in would waken the gang and dis¬ 
cover his absence. 

With the idea of noosing Lort he had brought a 
rope from one of the horse-wranglers’ saddles. He 
scrambled up over the rocks above the door. Across 
to the chimney hole the going was not very hard. 
The crookedness of the hole shut off all light from 
the cave. But the sickening odor of fermented mash 
told him he had found the right place. 

He noosed a knob of rock and slid down into the 
chimney, paying out the rope as he went. On the 
way he heard the furious bellow of Lort: 

“That’s what I said, you bum soaks! The slick 
skunk must have shammed drunk. I found the door 
chucked open. He’s up to some devilment. Some¬ 
body’s cut the wires to Elk. I’d still be in Pine 
Center if Jake hadn’t run out to Coldwell and 
phoned me Drake was getting up a posse. Hop to 
it! Dump the stuff into a gunnysack. We’ve got to 
jump out and block the cave holes. Where’s Al?” 




280 


The Two-Gun Mail 


Lefty mumbled something about, “On lookout.” 

“ Fetch him— No, grab the dough and shove up 
the chute. I’ll call A1 and-” 

With a rattle of loose rock fragments, Corveau 
slithered down the lowermost twist in the chimney 
hole. He dropped behind the row of mash barrels 
and whipped out his revolvers. At the same time 
he shouted an order: 

“Stick up!” 

Back came the roar of three pistols. The noise 
of the dropping stones had warned the quicker men 
in time to draw. As Corveau ducked behind a 
barrel the roar of his revolvers merged with the 
other reports. The nearest man dropped his auto¬ 
matic and squatted down, clutching his right arm. 

Lort bounded from sight into the front passage. 
He yelled at his rapidly firing men: 

“The scatterguns! Pump him — pump him!” 

Two of the men bounded towards the gun rack. 
From over near the still Corveau popped up and 
fired. The man nearest Lefty staggered back with a 
broken right shoulder. Lefty turned to run. A 
bullet struck his left arm. Like the two other 
winged men, he flattened down and crawled towards 
the cave mouth. 

The first two men flung themselves over behind 
the shelter of the piled sugar and grain, saved by 
Corveau’s promise to Kate. Had he been free to 




Out of the Trap 


281 


aim at the broad targets offered by the bodies of 
the men he could have fired fast enough to down all 
five. But he had told Kate he would not shoot to 
kill, even in self-defense. Shooting only to disable 
required careful work — took a split fraction of a 
second longer. 

Small as was the handicap against Corveau, it 
gave the jumpers their chance. Both were very 
quick on their feet. As they whipped down over 
the bags Corveau managed to graze the right 
shoulder tip of the larger man. He permitted the 
three crawlers to crawl. They had dropped their 
automatics and each bore the brand of his twin 
Colts. 

He flicked around to the other side of the still, 
hopeful of a shot at Lort. The gang boss did not 
show so much as a finger around the inner corner 
of the cave-mouth passage. Instead, the muzzle of 
a pumpgun poked between two sacks of grain. No 
need for the man behind the gun to show himself. 
He had only to level the barrel and pull the trigger. 

Buckshot clashed and clattered against the side 
of the still from which Corveau had last fired. An¬ 
other muzzle thrust out. The two pumpguns began 
to sweep all the upper side of the cave with their 
scattering buckshot. Corveau was forced to keep 
behind the still. The wounded men scrambled to 
safety around the inner turn of the cave entrance. 



282 


The Two-Gun Man 


A moment later Lort’s bellow silenced the roar 
of the pumpguns: 

“Hey! Quit! We’re cornered— Drake’s 
posse! Must have nabbed Al. You surrender to 
me — me and Jackson. Savvy? He and I beat 
the posse to it. Cornered all you bandits. Just keep 
your heads shut and leave the rest to me. You, 
Jackson, pump away at that two-gun killer. Rest of 
you, pile out ahead of me, hands up.” 

Jackson began to pump his scattergun, fast and 
furious. Corveau barely had time to jerk aside from 
the crack between two mash barrels. He had no 
chance to shoot when the other pumpgun man leaped 
out into the cave mouth to join Lort and the 
wounded men. 

Corveau dashed up the back passage. It was no 
time to be lingering. Lort had again out-played 
him. The deputy certainly could think quick. 
Caught in the pinch between Corveau and the posse, 
he had instantly seized his chance, not only to slip 
clear, but to prove himself the hero of the occa¬ 
sion. 

Later on he would manage somehow to help the 
others escape. Meantime they would “confess” 
that Corveau was one of them — was their leader. 
Corveau had no relish for surrendering to the posse 
— even to Uncle Drake in person. The old judge 
had not helped him break jail to pull off a fizzle. 



Out of the Trap 


283 


Lort had jumped clear of the trap — and he had 
the big loot hidden. If not blocked, he would be 
free to get away with it. To Corveau, the one 
prime essential was to keep himself free. If he 
should surrender, his board note to Kate might help 
him prove his charges against Lort. But there was 
also the chance that he might be jailed. Even one 
or two days might be fatal to his plans. 

Outside the closed door of the tunnel he paused 
to listen. He heard Lort, over before the front of 
the cave, shouting for the posse to hurry around and 
cut off the escape of the murderous two-gun kid. 

Corveau groped his way quickly along the trail 
towards the hollow. When he kicked against the 
first horse-wrangler he stooped down to whisper a 
parting jeer: 

“Tell the boss I’ve got my split and more. Kiss 
him good-by for me.” 

He hastened on to the other man, stumbled over 
him, and feigned astonishment. A cartridge in his 
mouth thickened his startled mutter: 

“Huh! What? Got you, too!” He cut at the 
man’s bonds. “ Posse flushed us. Headed off all 
’cept me. We’re to hit the trail for the mountains 
with the horses and ggub. String ’em together and 
lead. I’ll tail-guard— Hop to it!” 

The freed puncher jumped to obey, jerking out 
his gag on the way. With expert swiftness, he tied 





284 


The Two-Gun Man 


the horses together, head to tail, all except the one 
taken by Corveau. As the posse leaders came clam¬ 
boring over the jagged rocks, with their electric 
torches, the wrangler jumped into his saddle and 
started the string up the hollow. Corveau trotted 
his horse close behind. 

Half a mile away, at the head of the hollow, the 
wrangler leaped off to open a wire gate. Beyond 
that the trail curved around and headed up a cleft 
in the ridge to the northwest of the Stack. On the 
sharp slope, under the blackness of the pines, the 
horses slowed to a walk. Corveau called out in a 
guarded tone: 

“We got to get the grub there. Keep a-going. 
I’ll tail behind far ’miff to block ’em or lead ’em 
off-trail.” 

“ I get you,” called back the wrangler. 

Corveau slipped down and fastened the bridle 
reins of his borrowed horse to the tail of the horse 
ahead. He then quietly picked his way over the 
rocky ground towards the head of the canon. 

By dawn the wrangler would be several miles 
away. Even if he then noticed the extra riderless 
horse at the tail end of the string, he probably would 
keep on to the mountains without stopping. And 
when — as was certain — some of the posse fol¬ 
lowed the trail, they would believe that the two-gun 
man had fled with the wrangler. 



CHAPTER XXV 


THE BLUFFER 

ALL this time, back at the cave, Lort was run* 
ning true to form. 

Out into the glare of electric torches that spot¬ 
lighted the cave mouth shuffled his four “ prisoners.” 
Both hands of the pumpgun man were high. Lefty 
and his two wounded mates held up one hand each. 
Lort followed close at their heels, with his automatic 
raised. 

A dozen men were swarming up the ledges. Most 
of them had been in the escort that had guarded 
Corveau from the town hall. Judge Drake came 
scrambling behind the leaders. Jordan panted and 
puffed among the rocks lower down. From the cave 
still boomed the reports of Jackson’s pumpgun. 

Lort waved wildly towards the far side of the 
top crags. 

“ Chase around!” he shouted. “Their leader — 
that murderous two-gun kid — he’s still loose. May 
sneak out the back way. Jump to it, boys! ” 

Five of the posse jumped—after Drake repeated 
the order. One of the others stumbled upon Al. 

“Hell-o!” he cried. “Look who’s here — 
gagged and hog-tied! ” 


285 


286 


The Two-Gun Man 


“That’s their lookout. We nailed him first. 
Come on. He’ll keep. It’s Corveau — in his cave. 
He may get Jackson. Hustle! ” 

Spry as was the little judge, the climb up the 
canon side had taken the ginger out of him. Close 
to A1 his over-strained old knees gave way. He 
sank down, but covered his exhaustion by pretending 
to examine the bound badman. 

The more active men of the posse jostled past 
Lort and his prisoners. They ordered Jackson to 
quit firing. In the sudden hush that followed, they 
called upon Corveau to surrender. Receiving no 
reply, they rushed the cave in grim silence, their 
Colts drawn, but none firing. 

Drake recovered his breath and scrambled to the 
cave entrance. He gave Lort a wry look and hur¬ 
ried on into the cave. Two last members of the 
posse clambered up the steep ascent ahead of Jor¬ 
dan. Lort called upon them to guard the prisoners. 
As they obeyed, he jumped down the slide to cut 
the lashings on Al’s legs. While he then untied the 
gag he muttered in the ear of the cross-eyed man. 

Jordan heaved up over the last ledge, blowing 
like a broken-winded horse. The spirit of the 
sheriff was willing, but his flesh was fat. Lort gave 
him the word of good cheer: 

“I nailed the train bandits, Mr. Jordan. It’s 
that bootleg gang. Caught all except Corveau, their 



The Bluffer 


287 


leader. Your posse is after him now. Look at this 
one — that cross-eyed cook of mine. You were 
right, suspecting him and Lefty. Think of the dirty 
double-crossers working for us, yet running their still 
right here on my ranch I ” 

Too breathless for words, Jordan could only 
splutter. He toiled behind as Lort shoved the 
cramp-legged A1 up into the cave passage. Jackson 
came out to shout that the two-gun bandit had es¬ 
caped. Lort led prisoners and all into the cave. 

One of the posse was trying to climb up the 
chimney hole by means of the rope that Corveau 
had come down. The others were rushing the rear 
passage. Drake stood beside the carbide lamp, 
eying the scattered heaps of opened mail and the 
empty pouches. 

Lort hailed him with bluff raillery: 

“You’re an also-ran, your honor. I beat you to 
it. Tapped your wires and slipped in ahead of you. 
Good thing I did. The bunch was all ready to jump 
— were just sacking their plunder—this sugar 
sack.” 

“Heh — heh. Done it with one man, did you? 
Bunch like this, and that two-gun kid their top card, 
you said? Mighty nervy of you, Bull — mighty 
darned nervy! ” 

“Took ’em by surprise, uncle. We had luck in 
nabbing that cross-eyed lookout first. Would have 



288 


The Two-Gun Man 


nailed Corveau, too, only he happened to be back 
behind the still. But you can’t claim I didn’t get the 
jump on you. What d’you say, Mr. Jordan? 
Haven’t I the right to claim all that ten thousand 
dollars reward?” 

“Ha-how—’bout—y’r helper?” panted Jordan. 

“Jackson? Sure! Grittiest boy you ever saw. 
I split the jackpot with him; but no one else. It’s 
ours — the whole ten thousand.” 

Drake smiled sardonically. 

“Heh! That’s your say-so. Wait till we catch 
that two-gun kid. If he’s the ringleader of the 
bunch, he’s worth part the reward. ’Nother thing, 
I don’t see any express money packages round here. 
Needn’t remind you that was the big end of the 
haul.” 

“My God!” gasped Lort. “That’s why Cor¬ 
veau skipped out, instead of fighting! He beat it 
with the big stuff, leaving his gang to hold the 
sack!” The deputy turned fiercely upon his pris¬ 
oners. “You bunch of suckers! Cough up, or I’ll 
kick the daylights out of you.” 

“Aw, have a heart, Mr. Lort!” A1 appealed. 
“We own up we done you dirt, slipping the still in 
here when you was off to Denver. Also we run the 
moon through to Elk on your truck. But it was him 
— that slick double-crossing skunk Corveau-—it was 
him put us up to it all. He done it. He got us into 



The Bluffer 


289 


it, the murd’ring killer! We dassn’t back out, lest 
he’d ’a’ murdered the whole bunch of us. It was him 
shot the express man. Now he’s throwed us — 
spilled us off and made his getaway. The-” 

A flood of foul oaths gushed from the hate- 
twisted mouth. The three wounded prisoners had 
slumped down on the cave floor, weak from loss of 
blood. They joined virulently in Al’s cursing. 
Lort’s face was towards the front of the cave. He 
shouted at the cursers to shut up. 

Kate stood in the entrance, gazing around, wide- 
eyed and half breathless. Over her shoulder stared 
the thin-faced physician who had treated Corveau’s 
leg wound. 

“Katie!” cried Jordan. “You promised to stay 
home.” 

“ But I got to thinking, father. I simply had to 
fetch Doctor Mack. I was right. Just look at 
those poor men! ” 

She caught the doctor’s case out of his hand and 
hastened ahead to cut away the red-dripping sleeves 
of the wounded men with one of the surgical scis¬ 
sors. Examination by the doctor showed a broken 
bone in Lefty’s forearm, a cracked shoulder socket 
suffered by the second man, and a flesh wound 
through the upper arm of the third. 

As the doctor, aided by Kate, started to dress the 
injuries, Bill, the court bailiff, and another man of 





290 


The Two-Gun Man 


the posse came in through the rear passage, shoving 
ahead of them the horse-wrangler left bound by 
Corveau. All three halted and stood blinking, daz¬ 
zled by the glare of the carbide lamp. 

Lort stared at the unexpected prisoner. He had 
felt certain both wranglers must have made off with 
the horses. He stalled for a lead: 

“Who’s this? Huh —Tobin!” 

“ Claims he’s your top-rider, Mr. Lort,” said Bill. 
“ Found him in a cow-trail, tied to a quaking asp. 
Says that there two-gun kid roped him. Says the 
kid lit out with the hosses after leaving a message 
for you.” 

“Message?” growled Lort. “For me? The 
gall of him! What was it, Tobin? Did he know 
it was me who cracked down on his gang of bandits ? 
— me and Jackson, who beat the posse to it and 
scooped in this bunch and their mail loot?” 

Tobin was gaping at the disarmed prisoners and 
the weapons in the hands of his boss and Jackson. 
He blurted with the mechanical accuracy of a half- 
dazed mind: 

“That son-of-a — that two-gun kid Corveau — 
he says: ‘Tell the boss I got my split and more,’ 
he says. * Kiss him good-by for me,’ he says.” 

“ The young devil! ” cried Lort. “ I’ll run him 
down if it takes all year! Judge, Mr. Jordan, you 
heard! It’s exactly what I told you. He got his 



The Bluffer 


291 


split, and more — that express pouch! You fellows, 
why didn’t you trail him?’* 

“Thay’s two of the boys tracking afoot by flash¬ 
light. T’others went round to your corral to look 
for hosses. Mebbe the kid took ’em all. He sure 
went off with a string.” 

“ I told you the gang was just on the point of 
skipping out,” said Lort. “Lucky I got here with 
Jackson in time to nip ’em. No doubt Corveau took 
the horses of the whole bunch. Tobin, you pick up 
those loose guns and help guard the prisoners.” 

“ Hold on,” said Drake. “ I’ll make my bailiff 
custodian of the evidence. Shove them guns into 
this here sugarsack of val’ables, Bill, and add a jug 
of the moonshine.” 

Lort smiled. 

“Your honor at least got here in time to mop 
up. Gentlemen, I’m mighty glad I beat you to it 
tonight. It offsets the joke on me of finding this 
big plant of theirs here on my own ranch.” 

Kate smiled up at him in kind-hearted sympathy. 

“ Oh, but it isn’t, Bullen. The Stack and canon 
aren’t really on your land.” 

“ That’s so,” agreed her father. “ It lets you out, 
Bullen.” 

Judge Drake cackled with feeble mirth, as if try¬ 
ing to make himself believe that the joke still was 
on his political enemy. 



292 


The Two-Gun Man 


Lort’s smile became magnanimous. He offered 
both his cars to take the prisoners and evidence in 
to Elk. He suggested that some of the posse remain 
to help his ranch hands smash the still and mash 
barrels. In the morning they could load his truck 
with the pouches of rifled mail and as many jugs and 
cans of moonshine as the judge did not wish spilled 
at once. 

“ These sacks of grain, however,” he concluded. 
“ I claim them as my own. I feel sure they were 
stolen from my dairy barn.” 

Drake pinched his nose between a thumb and 
finger. 

“ Pe-eugh! If Katie don’t mind my saying it, 
something round here smells rotten.” 

“It’s the sour mash, judge,” said Jordan. “You 
ought to know that smell.” 

“Nope, I oughtn’t — nor anybody else, Hank. 
It’s ag’in’ the law.” 

As soon as the arms of the injured men were in 
slings, everyone, except a posse guard left by Drake, 
escorted the prisoners and treasure out through the 
cave tunnel and along the cow-trail to the old corral. 
Here stood the ranch flivver and also the maroon 
car. 

Less than an hour later, under the sharp eye 
of the little judge, Lort helped Kate and her father 
lock up the prisoners. The window bars cut by 



The Bluffer 


293 


Corveau had not been replaced, but the locked door 
of the cell shut off escape that way from the rest of 
the jail. The treasure was given a cell to itself. 

After the dawn breakfast, cooked by Kate, her 
father and Drake had to go to bed to recover from 
their night’s exertions. Lort returned to his ranch. 
By mid-day he came back with the pouches of rifled 
mail, but no moonshine. All the whiskey had been 
destroyed, along with the mash, by the posse guard. 

While Kate was serving the noon meal, a long¬ 
distance telephone message from a ranch over at 
the foot of the Snowy Range reported that the 
trackers had lost the trail of Corveau’s horses in 
the mountains. 

“ He’s made his getaway, with that cool hundred 
thousand in bonds and bank notes,” Lort growled 
angrily. “But we’re bound to catch him before 
long. He’s the kind to go on a spree and brag what 
he has done.” 

“ We-ell,” drawled Drake. “ I kind of Agger my¬ 
self he’s the sort that likes to show off his capabili¬ 
ties.” 

Jordan rather dolefully shook his head. 

“ I own up he had me fooled. I’d have sworn he 
was all right—a little wild, perhaps, but not really 
bad. Even now there’s that message of his to 
Katie-” 

“ Heh! That only goes to prove his gall,” broke 




294 


The Two-Gun Man 


in Drake. The wizened judicial poker face met 
Lort’s hard look of inquiry with a sarcastic smile. 
u The cheeky kid sent a message to Katie that he 
was going to get you — or words to that effect. I 
reckon he wanted us to come out and find he’d spilled 
you. Katie, d’you mind fetching me a-nuther platter 
of your biscuits? Seems like I never can get enough 
of ’em.” 

Kate took the plate from her suddenly solicitous 
father. Out in the kitchen she wiped her eyes. It 
was too bad for Uncle Drake to go and take away 
her last shred of belief in Sidney! He made it so 
certain that Sidney had brought or sent her that 
warning on the piece of board only to get Bullen 
humiliated. 

The boy was all bad. From the first he had lied 
and played the part of a hypocrite. He had been 
the secret leader of that dreadful bootleg, train- 
robber gang. He had shot the brave express mes¬ 
senger. Before that he had tried to “ frame” Bullen 
as a bootlegger. Now he had betrayed his own men 
— had left them to be shot and captured while he 
made off with the biggest part of the train robbery 
treasure. 

When she went back into the dinmg-room Lort 
naturally misinterpreted the misty pensiveness in 
her eyes as she drooped her gaze under his keen 
stare. He glowed. Here was his chance. Nothing 



The Bluffer 


295 


succeeds like success! He had out-played both Cor- 
veau and old Drake. He had the jack—along with 
a royal diamond flush. Now he would draw the 
Queen of Hearts. His metaphor became as mixed 
as his calculations. 

Her father and Drake at last went to the town 
hall to enter charges against the prisoners. Lort 
promptly took his opportunity. Bitter experience 
had taught him not to rush Kate. Instead of seiz¬ 
ing her in his arms, he masked his passion and gazed 
appealingly at her across the table. 

“How about it, Kate? You thought me hard 
over him. Now you know I had him sized up right. 
He has made his getaway—at least for the time 
being. But I have done what you and your father 
wanted so much. I’ve broken up the gang — his 
gang.” 

“Yes, Bullen. It was very orave o* you — with 
only that one man to help — and Sidney such a dead 
shot! You should have waited for the posse.” 

“ If I had, the whole bunch would have got away 
with him and taken the rest of their haul. I’d have 
nabbed him along with the others, only Tobin was 
muddled. The kid. may have put out a flask of 
doped moonshine where Tobin would find it. Other¬ 
wise he, Tobin, would have obeyed my orders to 
block that door.” 

Kate drew in a sigh that was almost a shudder. 



296 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Oh, but if he had, Sidney would have fought, 
instead of running away! One or both of you would 
have been killed! ” 

“ Very likely he’d have got me,” said Lort. “ I’m 
no gunman — no professional killer. I wasn’t 
shooting to kill. You’ll notice the prisoners were 
only winged. I was thinking of you, Kate.” 

“Were you, Bullen? Really and truly?” 

“What else? I knew how you felt about it. 
Haven’t you any thought for me, Kate? I’ve done 
my level best. I need you, Kate. If I seem hard 
at times, it’s because I need the influence of a good 
woman to soften me — to keep my mind on the 
better things of life.” 

To a girl of Kate’s character and high ideals no 
appeal could have been more effective. She had 
already given him her promise. Corveau had gone 
— in a cloud of reprobation. The man she had 
agreed to marry had proved himself merciful as 
well as brave. He had taken care only to wound 
those desperate, wicked men. And now he was ask¬ 
ing for her help. He wished her to guide him along 
the paths of rightness and kindliness. 

“Oh, Bullen, if you really need me! I do have 
thought for you. Now that you’ve shown yourself 
the man you seemed when you elected father and 
I gave you my promise, I’ll marry you-” 

“Today!” 




The Bluffer 


297 


“No, oh, no; I couldn’t do that. But as soon as 
I can get ready. In — in two weeks.’’ 

Lort managed to speak quietly, though his voice 
vibrated with repressed emotion: 

“That’s a promise, Kate.” 

Too shrewd to ask for so much as a single kiss, 
he at once pleaded weariness. 

“ I’m dog tired. Been going three days and two 
nights without a wink. Feel as if I could sleep the 
clock around. If you don’t mind, I’ll go home and 
turn in.” 

“ By all means! ” urged Kate, relieved and grate¬ 
ful to be rid of him. “You do look tired. You 
must take a good rest.” 

He left at once; but drove first to the town hall 
and announced his coming wedding to everyone he 
met. After displaying his elation to Jordan and 
Drake, he complained of being all tired out, and 
quoted Kate’s orders for him to go home and rest. 

On the way he stopped at Jake’s garage for gaso¬ 
line, although the big tank of his car was three- 
fourths full. Jake gave him some expert advice. 

“That’s no go, Bull. I got my saw back in the 
excitement. But you’d need one at every window 
for quick work. Even at that, the winged birds 
couldn’t wiggle out. It’s got to be an inside job. 
She phoned me to come over and fix the kitchen 
door chain. Leave it to me to fix it O. K.” 




298 


The Two-Gun Man 


“No bungling,” warned Lort. “Drake may 
have ’em up for preliminary exam, tomorrow. One 
of the lame ducks may squeal. Don’t forget the 
fake California license and pennants.” 

Another customer drove up to the garage. Lort 
rolled away homewards. 



CHAPTER XXVI 


ON THE INSIDE 

B Y EVENING Kate herself was quite ready to 
rest. She had been up all the previous night. 
The night before she had slept only until the hour 
of Corveau’s escape. And now, ever since the re¬ 
turn from the bootleg-bandit cave — her cave — 
she had been busy every minute, cooking for her big 
household and seeing to the comfort of the three 
wounded prisoners. 

She went to bed with a feeling of perfect security. 
Handy Jake had put a big bolt on the kitchen door, 
in place of the cut burglar chain — a very smooth- 
sliding bolt made by himself in his blacksmith shop. 
The door did not fit tight to the jamb. But the 
crack was far too narrow to admit the frame of a 
steel-saw r . 

Better still, her father was to go on guard. His 
morning’s sleep had partly made up for the night 
out with the posse. He was to inspect the cellroom 
every little while and see that no one tampered with 
the outer windows. At one o’clock he was to call 
Kate. She placed the most comfortable rocker in 
the office where he could read the family Bible and 
also listen for suspicious sounds in the cells. 

299 


300 


The Two-Gun Man 


She was so outspent that she at once sank into 
the dreamless slumber of a tired but healthy mind 
and body. But there was no torpor about her sleep. 
She came of old pioneer stock whose survival during 
two hundred years of Indian warfare, Kentucky 
feuds, and the later contentions of gold-rush and 
open-range cattle days, had depended upon alert¬ 
ness both sleeping and waking. 

That inherited trait or instinct had seemed to skip 
her father, yet had come down to her. It was what 
had wakened her on the night of Corveau’s escape. 
In the cool hush of midnight she roused up as she 
had roused then, her flesh creepy, her pulse quicken¬ 
ing. Though she heard no sound, she felt that 
something stealthy was astir. 

Mindful of her experience with Corveau, she first 
slipped into her dressing robe, which lay ready on a 
chair. The deep pockets were weighted with buck¬ 
shot cartridges. No less quietly and quickly, she 
lifted out the sawed-off shotgun from the curtained 
shelf of her home-made dresser. 

A peep into the blackness of the dining-room 
showed her a thin slit of light under the door into 
the office. Her father’s lamp was still burning. But 
why should he have closed the door? 

Noiselessly, in her bare feet, she stole across to 
the door. The original key of the lock had been 
lost or misplaced. But the thoughtful Jake had 



On the Inside 


301 


fitted a new key for it when he fixed the back door 
bolt. The key was now on the other side. It kept 
her from looking through the keyhole. 

But w T ith her ear to the thin panel she heard low 
murmurs. This might have been due to her father’s 
habit of mumbling verses when he read to himself. 
But then came a sharp jingling of keys. She turned 
the doorknob and pushed. The door was locked. 
No need of more proof that something was wrong. 

She stepped back, held the muzzle of her gun a 
few inches from the door lock, and pulled one of the 
triggers. The hammer came down with a dry click 
— a misfire. She pulled the other trigger— Again 
only a click. Small chance that two standard car¬ 
tridges could be duds. The gun had been tampered 
with. 

As she hastily felt her way to the dining-room 
window she broke and reloaded the old double-bar¬ 
reled gun with cartridges from her robe pocket. 
Two booming shots out of the window — then back 
quick to the door, with another reloading. This 
time the twitch of one finger was enough. The 
charge of buckshot shattered the lock and blew out 
its bolt. 

Kate flung the door wide open and stepped into 
the office, with the scattergun half raised. Her 
father lay hog-tied beside the rocking chair, his head 
wrapped in a blanket. Just beyond him a smallish 



302 


The Two-Gun Man 


man in cowboy hat, neckerchief mask and yellow 
slicker, stood hesitating before the open door of the 
cellroom. 

Kate’s gun jumped to her shoulder. 

“ Hands up! ” she cried. 

The small man hastily reached skyward. But at 
the same instant a big gloved fist shot out from be¬ 
side Kate and struck up the muzzle of the gun. The 
loaded barrel roared its buckshot up into the ceiling. 
The big fist wrenched the gun out of Kate’s grasp. 
She whirled upon its owner, screaming for help. 

The second man, like the first, was disguised with 
a slicker and a neckerchief mask. Kate’s attack was 
so sudden and furious that she knocked his hat off 
before he could make a move. She clutched the 
neckerchief. At the same time he grasped her 
throat to stifle her screams. Then he realized her 
purpose. 

He sought to shove her away. But her left hand 
had gripped tight hold of the hair on top of his 
head, and her right hand was tugging at his mask. 
In another instant the disguise would have been torn 
from his face. The hand on Kate’s throat let go to 
clap against the ripping neckerchief. Up whirled 
the sawed-off shotgun. The butt crashed upon 
Kate’s head. 

Roused by the first booming reports of the shot¬ 
gun, several neighbors came running towards the 



On the Inside 


303 


jail. The foremost caught a glimpse of two yel¬ 
lowish forms that leaped from the open front door. 
Their hasty shots flew wild as the fugitives darted 
off around the far corner of the jail into the dark¬ 
ness. Prompted by primitive instinct, the leading 
rescuers dashed off in pursuit, yelling and firing. 

Before the slower neighbors reached the jail Kate 
came to from the blow that had stunned her. The 
shotgun lay across her arm. Still dazed, she auto¬ 
matically reloaded the gun. Then, impelled by her 
deep-seated sense of duty, she staggered across the 
little room and clashed shut the cellroom door. A 
bunch of keys dangled from the one that had opened 
the lock. She thrust all into the left pocket of her 
robe. 

After that she dropped on her knees to whip the 
blanket from about the head of her father. His 
face was purple — rather more from anger than 
lack of air. Yet before he could catch his breath 
enough to speak, two men rushed in through the 
front doorway. 

Even as Kate snatched up her gun, she recognized 
the men as friends. At her call, one of them fished 
out his jack-knife and cut her father’s bonds. She 
had already made sure he was unharmed. 

Other men came flocking into the little office. 
Kate borrowed a flashlight and went into the cell- 
room. The recovered mail and the moonshine had 



304 


The Two-Gun Man 


not been touched. Still more satisfactory to her, 
a highly disappointed bunch of prisoners stood peer¬ 
ing from behind the locked doors of their cells. Kate 
hastened to relieve their suspense. 

“ Better turn in, men, and get a good sleep. Your 
friends have been frightened off. What’s the mat¬ 
ter, Lefty? You look dreadfully white.” 

“Ugh-uh! Twisted my busted bone. It hurts 
so I can’t sleep. I’m ’bout all in.” 

The man with the cracked shoulder socket jeered 
at the weakling. Kate hushed him and hastened out. 
Before her she shooed the curious rescuers, who had 
pushed into the cellroom. She closed the door. Her 
father was haltingly trying to explain how he had 
been surprised and overpowered. 

“That’s enough, father,” she broke in. “Every¬ 
one knows how you’ve been going night and day 
till you’re all worn out. It was my fault not letting 
one of the posse stand guard for us tonight. We’ll 
see how they broke in.” 

The welcome chance to escape his embarrassment 
sent Jordan hurrying ahead of her and the neighbors 
to the kitchen. To the astonishment of all, they 
found the rear door closed, locked and bolted. They 
turned to examine the bars of all the windows. 
None had been tampered with. 

More people were flocking to the jail and jam¬ 
ming in to increase the hubbub and excitement. 




On the Inside 


305 


Kate had not forgotten Lefty. 

“Please, everybody,” she said. “I must ask all 
of you to leave. Father is badly in need of sleep, 
and one of the wounded men is sick. If any of you 
wish to stand guard outside, do so. But there’s no 
need. I haven’t lost any prisoners, and I don’t in¬ 
tend to.” 

The crowd good-naturedly jostled out at the front 
door of the jail, with cheers and much friendly 
banter for “Katie, our jail-housekeeper.” She fas¬ 
tened the door, made her father go to bed in her 
room, and went to treat Lefty. 

He had not shammed sickness. The splints on his 
arm were loose and the dressings of the wound dis¬ 
arranged. She rebandaged all and gave him one of 
the sleeping powders left by the doctor. 

She had fearlessly gone alone into the bandit’s 
cell, certain of her safety. Her intuition proved 
right. By the time she had completed her work of 
mercy, the sullen look had disappeared from Lefty’s 
face, along with the pain and misery. As she made 
ready to leave, he plucked at her sleeve and bent 
forward to mutter in a very low voice: 

“You’re white, ma’am. Mebbe, tomorrow, ’f I 
c’n screw up my nerve — mebbe I’ll put you next on 
something.” 

“Oh, that’s all right, Lefty. Good night; pleas¬ 
ant dreams! ” 





306 


The Two-Gun Man 


She locked his cell and started to make a very 
careful examination of all the jail. Beyond ques¬ 
tion, the intruders had not entered on the cellroom 
side. They had been compelled to get the key of 
the cellroom door from her father. The smaller 
man had only just unlocked the door when she raised 
the alarm. 

But how had they managed to get into the near 
side of the jail? To have drawn the ponderous 
bolts of the front door from outside would have 
been impossible. Could the men have lured her 
father into opening it? He was far too trusting 
to be a sheriff. Yet even he would not have opened 
the door unless he had recognized the voice of a 
friend — and if he knew who the fellows were, he 
would have at once blurted out the truth. Instead, 
he had shown himself as puzzled as anyone else. 

With both the front and the cellroom door out 
of consideration, only the back door was left. She 
went for a second look at it, no longer distracted 
by the noise and excitement of the crowd. She slid 
the new bolt. When, after supper, she had shot it 
into its socket, its extremely smooth play had given 
her an agreeable feeling. Now it again impressed 
her, but in a different w T ay. 

She turned the key. It also worked very smoothly. 
Jake had said something about the lock needing 
adjustment. She opened the door. A small object 



On the Inside 


307 


on the doorstep glinted in the lamplight. Across 
the outside of the door jamb, at the height of the 
bolt, a flat furrow had been gouged. 

From the darkness a friendly voice asked if all 
was well. She waved her hand and bent to catch up 
the thing that glinted on the step. There were two 
things. She carried them inside and refastened the 
door. One of the things was a thin, pointed pair of 
small pincers. The other was a very thin and nar¬ 
row plane blade. 

A slight sideward scratching of the blade on the 
door bolt moved it out of its socket. Thus it had 
been used from outside through the crack between 
jamb and door. 

The pincers, nipped on the butt of the key in the 
keyhole of the door between kitchen and dining¬ 
room, turned the key and shot the lock out and in. 
No question now as to how the intruders had en¬ 
tered. 

But who were they? As they had not been let in 
by her father, they might be utter strangers. 
Neither was tall as Jake. Her suspicion that the 
smaller one had been Corveau was rather offset by 
the startled manner in which he had thrown up his 
hands. Sidney did not fear her; yet that man had 
shown unmistakable fright. 

His big companion had been the one quick-witted 
enough to flatten himself alongside the door and 



308 


The Two-Gun Man 


save the other by striking up her gun muzzle. He 
was a very powerful man. He had plucked the gun 
out of her two-handed grip as if she were a baby. 
Only her quickness in clutching his hair and mask 
had stopped him from choking her—had forced 
him to strike her to save himself from being un¬ 
masked. 

How violently he had jerked back his head to 
break her hold! Her last memory before that stun¬ 
ning blow was the feel of his outpulling hair. Ah, 
that blow! Only an utter brute could have choked 
and struck a disarmed girl that way. 

The steel-saw used by Sidney had somehow dis¬ 
appeared. It would be well not to lose the pincers 
and plane blade. She hid them in a box of crackers. 
The too-smooth door bolt she wedged fast with a 
knife blade before she went forward on her guard- 
rounds of the jail. 

With the callousness of men accustomed to des¬ 
perate situations, the prisoners had all gone to sleep. 
Or they feigned sleep. Lefty certainly was uncon¬ 
scious of his injured arm. His sleeping powder had 
taken effect. 

Kate had been back in the office only a few 
minutes when she heard a sharp challenge and the 
sound of a stopping car. Then came the deep voice 
of Lort replying to the volunteer outside guards. 

As she swung open the heavy door he shoved in 



On the Inside 


309 


with rough haste. A backward heave of his elbow 
slammed the door shut. In a passionate outburst 
of anxiety and love, he grasped Kate and caught her 
to him. 

“My girl! Tell me! You’re not hurt — not 
badly?” 

“No, no — only a bump. Let me go! You — 
you’re crushing me!” 

He eased his bearlike hug but still held fast to 
her. 

“ I heard that the jail—- Jake phoned out. Came 
fast as I could drive at night. He said you’d been 
hurt—and the fellows escaped.” 

“ My prisoners didn’t,” replied Kate. “ I don’t 
mind the bump and a little headache as long as those 
fellows failed to get the mail treasure or turn the 
prisoners loose. The joke was on them! ” 

Lort released his hold and stepped back to stare 
around the room. 

“ Who were they ? D’you suspect anyone ? What 
did they look like?” 

Kate started in to tell everything since she had 
wakened. When she came to describe the man at 
the cellroom door, Lort broke in, almost savagely 
exultant: 

“ Thought so! Corveau, of course! That’s why 
the trackers lost his trail. He swung round through 
the mountains, stole a car, and came back to get the 




310 


The Two-Gun Man 


rest of the loot. Other man probably was—” 
Lort cleared his throat, “was the ’legger bandit who 
got away with him. Tobin is sure there were two 
who took the horses. Go on! What did the second 
one look like ? ’’ 

Without stopping to dispute the assertion that the 
first man had been Corveau, Kate told about the 
second man. Lort stood with downbent head, in an 
attitude of intent thought. When Kate mentioned 
her quick recovery from the blow of the gun he drew 
a deep breath of relief. 

“ I must have looked funny, staggering to relock 
the cellroom door,” she went on. “There was no 
need. I knew the prisoners and valuables were all 
safe. The joke was on those men.” 

“How?” 

“Why, they couldn’t have opened a single cell. 
The other keys on the ring are merely for show. 
When I first received the appointment, Uncle Drake 
advised me to carry the cell keys separate from the 
key of the cellroom door. That shuts out all chance 
of anyone stealing or grabbing all together.” 

Lort looked blank. His ears went red. But Kate 
did not notice. Her thoughts were on what had 
followed. She hastened to tell, with excusable pride, 
how she had solved the mystery of the burglars’ 
entrance. Lort smiled his approval. 

“You’re a mighty smart girl, Kate. Let’s have 



On the Inside 


311 


a look at those tools.” 

“Won’t tomorrow do? I’ve hidden them, so 
they’ll not be spirited away, as were those shears 
and steel-saw and oil can.” 

“Um-m— Anything else happen?” 

“Nothing—” Kate paused to think. “No, that 
is all, except poor Lefty. He seemed both sorry and 
grateful. He wants to tell me something.” 

Lort started as if stung. 

“What’s that? What did he tell?” 

Kate repeated the man’s words as accurately as 
she could recall them. They brought a scowl to 
Lort’s already heavy face. 

“The skunk! He wants to squeal — turn state’s 
evidence on his bunch. We’ll go in and give him 
the third degree right away. Come on!” 

“Not now, Bullen. He’s sick. We couldn’t 
waken him, anyway. That sleeping powder, you 
know.” 

The deputy sheriff became suddenly solicitous. 

“You go to bed, Kate. I’m here. I’ll keep 
guard till morning. Go and rest.” 

“That’s thoughtful of you, Bullen. But I couldn’t 
sleep now — not with my headache. Besides, you 
look ever so much worse than I feel. You’re the 
one who needs a good sleep and rest. You look 
positively haggard. Go and lie down on father’s 
cot.” 



312 


The Two-Gun Man 


In vain Lort argued, commanded, and even 
begged. Kate would not give way. At last, sul¬ 
lenly, he went to take Jordan’s cot in the dining¬ 
room. He pretended to sleep. Kate made no pre¬ 
tense. She remained very wide awake. 

At dawn he came to her in the kitchen, with an 
urgent plea to question Lefty. 

“We must not delay any longer, Kate. What that 
skunk has to tell may enable me to run down the 
rest of the bunch still at large.” 

Though reluctant to disturb the sick man, Kate 
led the way to the cellroom. As Lort followed her 
through the doorway he began to talk in a loud tone: 

“ If there’s a skunk in the bunch who wants to 
squeal, he can squeal to me. I’ll see he gets what’s 
coming to him. Which one was it?” 

Kate stopped before Lefty’s cell. The prisoner 
was awake — very much so. He had jumped or 
rolled off his bunk and was running around the cell 
like a caged rat frantic to escape. His eyes rolled 
like a madman’s. From his half-open mouth poured 
a terrified incoherent mumbling. 

“Oh, dear!” cried Kate. “The poor man’s de¬ 
lirious! Please, please, Bullen, go fetch Doctor 
Mack. Those men last night cut the jail phone 
wires.” 

The grim smile had left Lort’s hard mouth. De¬ 
lirious prisoners are apt to babble secrets. Kate’s 



On the Inside 


313 


request gave him excuse to leave on the jump. 

Kate followed to lock the outer door after him. 
When she hastened back to Lefty, she found the 
sick man huddled in the far corner of the cell. She 
went in and felt his forehead. It was not feverish, 
but clammy with cold sweat. He kept muttering: 

“He’ll kill me! He’ll kill me!” 

“Who?” she asked. 

“ Him — Bull! He’ll skin me ’live! ” 

Still certain the man must be out of his head, she 
replied soothingly: 

“ It’s all right. Don’t you fear. Mr. Lort has 
gone away. There’s nothing for you to fear. I’ll 
protect you. I’m here to take care of you.” 

Lefty suddenly became still. He drew her head 
down close to his lips. 

“You — you mean that—honest? You’ll not 
let him get me? That old baldy judge—you’ll get 
him to protect me, too?” 

“Yes, yes. You’ll be perfectly safe. Let me help 
you up on your bunk.” 

“ Hold on. It’s the big stuff. I dassn’t squeal 
on him, I dassn’t! But the big stuff. Promise you’ll 
get the judge to give me ’munity if I tip you off.” 

“Why, I’ll do all I can. If you turn state’s evi¬ 
dence, you’ll have a right to ask for immunity. I 
don’t like informers, but you have my promise.” 

This brought back Lefty’s habitual sulky look. 




314 


The Two-Gun Man 


“I ain’t informing. It’s him spilled the beans. 
He promised to get us clear; then went and bungled 
his throw. Just the same, I ain’t giving him away. 
It’s the stuff. I ain’t going to the pen, and let him 
hog the big stuff! ” 

“Oh, you mean the express pouch. The-” 

Lefty clapped a dirty hand over her mouth. 
“Shut up! On’y him and me know where its 
planted. You been white to me. It’ll mean you 
get a split on that ten thousand reward. On’y you 
best hump yourself. Slip out to the ranch and nail 

the stuff. It’s cached in-” 

The last words breathed from the tobacco-stained 
lips almost against Kate’s ear. 





CHAPTER XXVII 


CHEATING THE DEVIL 



ORT had raced direct to Jake’s garage. What 


JL# he had to say took only a few moments. He 
ended with a curt order: 

“Phone her doc to hustle to the jail. Tell him 
Lefty has gone crazy. That’ll help us get from 
under, if the skunk squeals. Pass the word around 
I’m off on the trail of the two-gun kid and the other 
jail burglar.” 

Jake spat venomously. 

“ If you catch him, Bull, give him one for me. 
He’s the bird that’s heaved all the monkey-wrenches 
into our machinery.” 

The look on Lort’s face was sufficient answer. 
The big car whirled out of town. He made the fif¬ 
teen miles to Coldwell on an average of forty miles 
an hour. 

The blasts of his horn from half a mile away 
brought Dorcy to the doorway of the store. He 
sprang to the front of the porch — and stopped as 
if jerked by a rope. Nearing him Lort threw out 
the clutch but did not brake the car. As he rolled 
past he called harshly: 

“Any sign of your two-gun side-kick?” 


315 


316 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Lord, no, boss. The kid’s bound to fight shy 
of me. He knows if he comes round here I’ll tip 
him off to you quicker’n-” 

“ Choke that blatt. Lefty’s gone off his head. 
May leak. If he does, keep your knees stiff. Stick, 
and I’ll give you his split, along with the whole 
business here.” 

“ Sure, boss! Sure, I’ll stick! ” 

The maroon car crashed into gear and shot away. 
Dorcy drew his shirtsleeve across his bony face and 
stumbled to the store doorway. There his knees 
gave out. He slumped down on the nearest chair. 

Corveau had already darted from the rear of the 
old house and down into the creek thickets. In 
the young spruce on the far side his black mare 
waited. He raced her across country as fast as she 
could run. The car had to go up to the side road 
and follow the winding course through the forest. 
The mare had a straightaway cut-across. 

She had reached the south border of the oat field 
and dashed along through the woods to the ridge, 
before the car entered the field. But the climb up 
the ridge took time. When she loped along the 
crest to a point within sight of the ranch buildings, 
Corveau saw the car standing below the big upper 
window of the dairy barn through which feed was 
hoisted into the loft. 

A head peered from the window. It drew back. 






Cheating the Devil 


317 


Then a sack swung out on the hoist rope and low¬ 
ered rapidly into the car. A man slid down the 
rope and cast it loose. He grasped the steering- 
wheel. The car shot down the road to the lettuce 
field. 

The mare had already ceased to blow. Corveau 
spurred her at reckless speed aslant the west slope 
of the ridge. At the foot they angled to the lower 
corner of the lettuce field and across the creek. 
Three plunges took them through the stream. 

From a screen of thickets on the far side, a vista 
gave clear view of the maroon car at the far end 
of the old corral. As Corveau raced towards it he 
glimpsed a moving hump, off to the left, among the 
bushes along the trail to the Stack. He whirled the 
mare to circle around behind cover. 

Near where he had seen the hump he jumped off 
and went forward afoot. In the dusty trail he 
found fresh tracks of big rubber-heeled walking 
shoes. He followed them, his eyes bright and eager 
with joyous excitement. After all the long strain 
of watching and waiting, he was at last on the hot 
scent. 

At Coldwell the weak-kneed Dorcy had been 
given reason to believe that the barrel of a rifle in 
the rear of the store would be kept in line with his 
head. Small chance that he had blabbed on his 
visitor. And all the way from Coldwell Corveau 




318 


The Two-Gun Man 


had kept under cover. But a man like Bull Lort 
was far more dangerous than the average desperate 
badman. He had brains as well as craft and 
strength and courage. 

Every few steps Corveau darted out sideways. 
Prudence advised a look behind the bushes that 
bordered the trail. The man-traps had been re¬ 
moved. Yet Lort might have tolled off Jackson and 
Tobin to take their places. Though his footprints 
were the only fresh ones in the trail, his men could 
have circled. 

Within a few feet of the disused trail fork to 
the falls even Lords tracks disappeared. Corveau 
looked close and saw that they led off over the short- 
cropped grass parallel with the cattle-trail fork. 
This may have been only an extra precaution, or it 
might indicate that Lort suspected he was being fol¬ 
lowed. 

Corveau had reason to think he knew where Lort 
was going. The longest way around is sometimes 
the shortest way home. He had twice already made 
the perilous passage of the sloping wet shelf along 
the Stack base, above the cleft of the falls. Lort 
might even now be circling to take him from behind. 
If so, he must be led to believe that his tracker had 
misguessed and taken the wrong trail. 

The cover nearest the forks was a thick clump of 
bushes several yards away along the cow-trail. Cor- 



Cheating the Devil 


319 


veau sprinted off along the open falls path. At 
every swift stride the outward twist of both trails 
took him farther away from the clump of bushes. 

As he ran, habitual alertness caused him to glance 

over his shoulder at the clump.A gun 

barrel was thrusting out of the foliage. He leaped 
sideways for the shelter of a tree trunk — too late! 
He did not even hear the boom of the pumpgun. 
One of the scattering buckshot struck the side of his 
head. He fell face down. 

Lort burst from the bushes and ran across the 
open ground, with his pumpgun ready to fire again. 
But Corveau did not stir. One hand was stretched 
forward beside his off-fallen sombrero; the other 
stuck out sideways. Close to each lay one of the 
forty-fives. He had jerked out his guns as he 
jumped. 

As Lort drew near he slowed his rush and 
pointed his pumpgun at Corveau’s head. The sud¬ 
den dash down the falls fork had taken him by sur¬ 
prise. He had been compelled to fire at long range. 

But there was no sham about Corveau’s limp still¬ 
ness. Something like half a dozen of the scatter¬ 
ing buckshot had struck their mark. The back of 
his shirt was already blotched with red, and red 
was streaming down across his head. 

With the muzzle of his gun almost touching that 
ghastly head, Lort kicked away first one revolver 



320 


The Two-Gun Man 


and then the other. He pocketed them, and with 
a kick and heave of his big foot flung the limp body 
over, face upwards. Corveau’s face was white. 
His eyes were glazed and half uprolled. 

Yet Lort was still not satisfied. He searched the 
flaccid body from head to foot. Finding no hidden 
weapon, he gave the body another kick and started 
to hurry off. A last doubt brought him swinging 
back again. The only handcuffs he had along were 
large. He opened them as wide as possible, jerked 
off Corveau’s boots, and snapped the cuffs on the 
slender ankles. 

“There, you slick skunk,” he growled. “Dead 
or shamming, you’ll stay put.” 

Fie ran back to the clump of bushes, slung a half¬ 
full grain sack on his thick shoulder, and jogged 
away down the cow-trail. 

A few minutes later Corveau’s eyes began to lose 
their fishy glaze. Their brown-black irises rolled 
down to normal position. After a time he made a 
feeble attempt to move. Flis feet seemed to be 
bound together. Instinctively his skyward-staring 
eyes started to lower towards his feet. Part way 
their gaze came in line with the top of the Stack. 
There it froze in a fixed stare. 

The slanting rays of the early morning sun so 
brightened the great column of granite that it looked 
like a red flame. But just below the top, on the 



Cheating the Devil 


321 


steep north pitch, a little black knob stood out from 
the fiery red, silhouetted against the intense blue of 
the sky. The little knob was creeping upwards. 

Corveau smiled. With great effort he got a hand 
under his head. The slightest movement increased 
the pain of his wounds to agony. But he clenched 
his teeth and persisted. He was not surprised to 
find his revolvers gone. The handcuffs on his ankles; 
only half surprised him. An agonized twist of his 
head showed him where his hat lay. He could just 
reach it. 

After that he lay very still. He was already weak 
from loss of blood. He could bear the pain. But, 
motionless as he now held himself, he could feel his 
strength gradually oozing away. His movements 
had not only tortured him; they had reopened his 
wounds. 

No use trying to summon help. The last eve¬ 
ning Lort and the two remaining men of his gang 
and what was left of the posse had given over 
searching the ranch for him. The posse men had 
returned to Elk. Jackson and Tobin were at work 
on Lort’s shipments of cream and lettuce. A show 
of ranch business had to be made. 

The Swede dairymen never came beyond the let¬ 
tuce field. If Tobin or Jackson chanced along, 
either one would be quick to kill the man who had 
broken up their gang. Lort, however, was so sure 



322 


The Two-Gun Man 


of his position that he might prefer to land his 
enemy in the penitentiary. 

Would he never come? Of course he would! 
He would wish to make certain whether his prisoner 
had revived or was “killed dead.” But would he 
come in time? He might be too late- 

No, there was his footstep, heavy yet quick. A 
gray spot appeared against the green foliage — his 
auto cap — below it his face, flushed and eager, last 
of all, the thick arms and forebody. 

By good luck, or Providence, he came from the 
right direction. He stopped a step short of the 
bootless feet to smile down at the steel-girdled 
ankles. The smile deepened as his gaze traveled 
along the slim body to the arm-pillowed head. 

“So?” he said. “Decided to come back from 
hell for another dose, did you?” 

Corveau gazed up at his enemy in an agony of 
indecision. That broad face, it would be easy. To 
attempt the other thing might mean failure. He 
was very weak. True, he had given his promise to 
Kate. Yet if he should fail, she would not learn the 
truth about this green-eyed devil until too late. And, 
oh, what a delight to do what he so yearned to do! 

But he had promised her. She had trusted him, 
and she had said he must not become a killer. That 
meant he must keep his promise. Which, in turn, 
meant he must succeed. He must save her, but he 




Cheating the Devil 


323 


must do it the right way. 

“Well?” jeered Lort. “What’s the answer?” 

“This!” 

Corveau’s teeth clenched on the word. His right 
hand jerked up. A sharp crackling roar, another, 
Lort staggered back, both arms dangling. He 
turned to run. The little pistol in Corveau’s hand 
was wavering. The arm behind it had begun to 
sink down. His eyes were already dim with the 
blackness of unconsciousness. Yet once again the 
pistol cracked. Lort’s right leg gave way. He 
pitched upon his shoulder. 

Minutes passed. Lort’s bellows for help were 
weakening before voices at last cried back in reply. 

Kate sprinted along the trail, followed closely by 
gray-haired but long-limbed Bill, the court bailiff. 
Little Judge Drake panted yards behind. A spruce 
tree was in line between Kate and Corveau. 

Lort had managed to get himself up in a sitting 
position, with his back against a pine trunk, so that 
his shouts would carry farther. Kate was looking 
at him so intently as she ran that she almost stepped 
upon Corveau. She stopped short and stared down 
into his gray-white blood-streaked face. His eyes 
were closed. 

“Oh, Bullen!” she cried. “He’s dead! You’ve 
killed him! ” 

“ Good thing,” snarled Lort, almost beside him- 



324 


The Two-Gun Man 


self with pain and humiliation. “ Look what he did 
to me — both arms and a leg. The dirty sneak!” 

Bailiff Bill halted beside Kate and bent to roll 
Corveau on his side. 

“Huh! Sneak, did you say? How ’bout shoot¬ 
ing him in the back?” 

“ Same way Pat Garrett got Billy the Kid. No¬ 
body but a fool would try to match draws with a 
murderous two-gun man. Come here, Kate. You 
belong to me.” 

Kate dutifully obeyed. She was his promised 
wife. And Corveau had been proved to be the gang 
leader. Besides, he seemed beyond all need of help. 
She found that Lort’s injuries were two flesh wounds 
and a broken right arm. 

Drake came puffing to examine Corveau. He or¬ 
dered his bailiff to go for the Swedes and a pair of 
stretchers. When Kate called out about Lort’s in¬ 
juries, the little judge could not restrain his admira¬ 
tion. 

“ Sounds like old times. I knew the boy had it 
in him. Shot in the back, frisked of his six-guns, 
ironed; yet got his man— You’re a careless 
frisker, Bull, missing this purty little thirty-eight 
automatic.” 

“It wasn’t on him,” complained Lort. “I’ll 
•swear to it. Lie must have shoved it into the dirt 
when he fell.” 



Cheating the Devil 


325 


Drake reached for the silver-banded sombrero 
to cover Corveau’s face. Something started to fall 
out of the crown. He turned the hat over and 
looked inside. Never had he seen the like of that 
wire frame and inner crown. 

“You son-of-a-gun! ” he muttered. “You young 
son — of—a — gun! ” 

By the time Kate had Lort’s leg and left arm 
bandaged and his roughly splinted right arm in a 
sling, Bill returned with Tobin and Jackson as well 
as the three Swedes. The punchers and two of the 
Swedes at once bore off Lort on one of the impro¬ 
vised litters, under the directions of Kate. When 
Drake and Bill and the third Swede reached the 
bunk-house with Corveau, all the first party except 
the Swedes had hastened away for Elk in Lort’s car. 

As Corveau’s litter was set down beside the Jor¬ 
dan flivver, he groaned. Bill and Drake did not 
stop to discuss politics or the weather. They slit 
Corveau’s shirt up the back and tied compresses on 
his wounds. At the ranch a few whiffs of strong 
vinegar brought him out of his swoon. Drake bent 
close to his ear. 

“Any statement, son?” 

“ Uh— D’lwing’im?” 

“ Three times.” 

“Jackson — Tobin — gang, no bail!” 

“I savvy, son.” 



326 


The Two-Gun Man 


“None — gang — bail — ’mportant! ” 

“ Don’t worry, boy. i’ll keep ’em jailed till-” 

“ Me, too! Kate — tell her ’m laid up for repairs 

— but still in the run—-” The faint whisper died 

away into nothingness. 

Drake turned upon his bailiff. 

“Bill, dadghast your old hide! We’re going to 
pull the boy through or bust a suspender! Pile into 
that flivver and hold him on your lap like he was a 
sick baby. I’ll drive best I can. May the Lord 
curse Bull’s county commisshners for every bump we 
hit!” 

At Coldwell the flivver stopped and honked the 
reticent Mr. Dorcy out of his retirement. He gaped 
at the inert form in Bill’s arms. 

“Hustle,” said Drake. “Trot out some your 
bug juice. It’s wanted for medic’nal purposes.” 

“He — he — the kid — he ain’t croaked?” 

“Not by a long sight. Scoot!” 

Dorcy’s bleary eyes peered close into the wizened 
judicial face. 

“Med’cine? The kid says you’re square and 
white, and he ain’t no liar.” 

“No. And if you don’t hustle——” 

But Dorcy was already “ scooting.” He ran to 
the well and doubled over the old stone curb as if 
about to fling himself in. A thin wire pulled up a 
small rope. At the end of the rope came a wire 





Cheating the Devil 


327 


basket Dorcy lowered the basket and ran back to 
the flivver, a wet pint flask out-thrust. 

“ Ginger ale,” he mumbled. “ Double proof. 
Mighty good med’cine to warm his innerds. ’F you 
don’t mind, I’ll come ’long, case you get stalled on 
the hill.” 

Drake nodded and started the car. Dorcy slipped 
in behind. He helped support Corveau while Bill 
began administering judicious doses of the “ ginger 
ale.” Whether due to its fiery heat or to a constitu¬ 
tion as tough as his sinewy body, Corveau was still 
alive v/hen they reached Elk. 

At the jail Drake ordered Bill to race for Kate 
and the doctor, and, incidentally, to take care of 
Tobin and Jackson. He and Dorcy carried Cor¬ 
veau in. Jordan himself suggested Kate’s bed and 
brought his own blankets. 

“Got to keep the boy warm,” he said as he un¬ 
locked Corveau’s ankles with his duplicate key and 
tucked in the bedding. 

Sooner than even Drake expected, Kate came with 
the doctor. Lort was already settled in the best 
room of Elk’s best hotel, his wounds dressed, his 
broken arm in splints, and himself in no danger. 

. And Bill had told Kate that Corveau 
was dying. 

Bill had conte near to telling the truth. The 
doctor found all of Corveau’s wounds shallow. The 



328 


The Two-Gun Man 


buckshot had struck aslant as he bent for his side¬ 
ward leap. They were extracted in rapid succes¬ 
sion. But, like the one that had plowed through 
the scalp and along the side of the skull, all had 
opened long gashes. Though Kate’s first act had 
been to fetch hot-water bags, Corveau’s limbs re¬ 
mained cold. 

The doctor shook his head. 

“Wounds not at all serious, had they been dressed 
at once. But he’s bled white. Transfusion is his 
only chance. If some healthy person would give him 
a quart-” 

Kate bared her arm. 




CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE SHOW-DOWN 


HE results of the operation were quick and 



A favorable. Literally life itself had poured 
from Kate’s arm into Corveau’s veins. Before long, 
between naps, he was drinking quantities of beef 
juice and rich milk. 

With Kate to nurse him, he could not help im¬ 
proving rapidly. He was up and around a day 
sooner than Lort. 

A pair of able and rather notorious criminal 
lawyers had come up from Denver to defend A1 and 
his gang mates. Despite their protests, which bor¬ 
dered upon threats, and their violent arguments, 
Drake put off the preliminary hearing of the pris¬ 
oners from day to day. His only explanation was 
that the proceedings should wait upon the recovery 
of Bullen Lort, deputy sheriff and chief accuser of 
the defendants. 

What still more exasperated the attorneys was 
their inability to advise with one of their clients, a 
certain Lefty. He, it seemed, had been removed 
from jail and placed in private custody for medical 
treatment. 

No complaint was made, at least openly, by the 


329 



330 


The Two-Gun Man 


distinguished legal gentlemen over their inability to 
locate Jackson and Tobin. Both punchers had 
started for Stack Falls Ranch and had vanished on 
the way. 

The attorneys conferred very little with the pris¬ 
oners to whom they had access. Much of their time 
was spent in their hotel suite. Not unnaturally, it 
was alongside Lort’s room. The room across the 
hall was taken by the prosecuting attorney, a young 
lawyer whom Lort had backed for the office. Jake 
and the creamery manager came frequently to call 
on Lort. 

After even threats to sue out a writ of habeas 
corpus failed to move the little judge, Lort at last 
discovered that he was able to leave his room. 
Drake promptly called the hearing. 

When Bill the bailiff announced that the court was 
in session, the space back of the rail could not have 
held another spectator. The part in front of the 
rail resembled a convalescents’ ward in a hospital. 
Two of the prisoners still had their arms in slings. 
Corveau’s head was bandaged and his face rather 
white. Lort limped badly and carried his right arm 
in a sling. Lefty did not appear. But young Bernie, 
the express messenger, out of danger, yet too weak 
to walk, was brought in on a stretcher. 

At a word from Lort, the prosecuting attorney 
demanded that Corveau be placed in the dock with 





The Show-Down 


331 


the other prisoners. Counsel for the defense made 
no objections. Drake drawled his ruling in a very 
dry tone. 

“That accused person has already had his pre- 
lim’nary and been held for trial. He’s here to tes¬ 
tify, if it suits his notion.” 

Prosecuting attorney and defense counsel alike 
jumped up to disclaim having subpenaed the two- 
gun man as a witness. 

“ Proceed, Mister Prosecutor,” broke in Drake. 
“We’re here for business, not fireworks. Swear 
Bull.” 

Lort proved an able and impressive witness. 
Never had his voice and manner been more bluff 
and hearty. He started off with that fateful bottle 
of “ ginger ale ” that had led him to suspect Corveau 
at their first meeting. He told how Corveau and 
the defendant Lefty, not present, had treacherously 
conspired to “ frame” him as a bootlegger over the 
moonshine they were smuggling in his truck. 

He went on to describe and exaggerate Corveau’s 
share in the train robbery. This, from him, was 
mere hearsay evidence, but none of the attorneys or 
Corveau or Drake raised objections. Afterwards 
came a very clear and forceful account of how he 
and his cow-hands, Tobin and Jackson, had at last 
trailed Corveau to the moonshine cave. 

Here Lort paused to say that all the defendants 



332 


The Two-Gun Man 


had at one time or another worked for him and 
proved themselves good reliable cow-hands. He 
hastened to qualify this statement. 

“ I don’t include that fellow, Lefty. He was lazy 
and vengeful and showed signs of insanity. He 
helped Corveau get the other boys into wrongdoing. 
Fact is, they got the boys on a spree, and then Cor- 
veau terrorized them into doing his dirty work. He 
threatened to murder them, and was always ready 
to shoot them down at the least sign of refusal to 
do his will. The bloodthirsty devil first got the poor 
boys in his power, and then-” 

“Just a minute,” interrupted Drake. “I’d like 
to remark we usually don’t have the arguments for 
the defense until after the evidence is all in. P’r’aps 
you better go on with your testimony.” 

Up sprang counsel on each side of the table, to 
object to the court’s heckling of the witness. Drake 
thumped his hammer. 

“Set. You, Bull, gee-up, and keep in the road.” 

Lort smilingly proceeded to tell how he and Jack- 
son and Tobin had from a distance seen Corveau 
and Lefty place fiendish man-traps, spring-guns, on 
a trail near the Stack. This cowardly attempt at 
murder had led to the search that resulted in the dis¬ 
covery of the moonshine cave. 

In vivid but vague terms Lort went on to describe 
how he and Jackson had surprised and captured the 




The Show-Down 


33a 


moonshiners. Only Corveau, the murderous ring¬ 
leader and dominator of the band, had treacherously 
left the others to hold the sack while he made off 
with all the really valuable plunder from the train 
robbery. 

But after caching his loot somewhere in the moun¬ 
tains, the two-gun killer had come back with Red, 
the only other gang member who had escaped. With 
the possible idea of freeing Lefty and the undoubted 
purpose of stealing once more the rest of the loot, 
the pair had broken into the jail. They had almost 
smothered Sheriff Jordan to death; had viciously at¬ 
tacked Miss Kate Jordan and struck her down in a 
wanton attempt at murder. 

Here Lort permitted himself to gaze at Kate with 
manly emotion and remark that the murderousness 
of the two-gun man had forced a brief postpone¬ 
ment of their wedding. Kate looked down at the 
ring on her hand with what the spectators recognized 
as maidenly modesty. 

For climax, Lort wound up with a thrilling ac¬ 
count of how the thwarted jail-burglar had trailed 
and sought to assassinate him when he was hunting 
the rabbits that bothered his lettuce crop. By sheer 
good luck, he had seen the sneaking assassin. 

The coward had sought to jump to the shelter 
of a tree, but had been caught by a load of buck¬ 
shot. He had shammed death until, at an un- 




334 


The Two-Gun Man 


guarded moment, he had found his chance treacher¬ 
ously to cripple his captor. 

“ How do you account, Mr. Lort, for his failure 
to kill you?” asked the prosecutor. 

“That’s easily answered, knowing him for the 
bloodthirsty killer he is, sir. He winged me first, 
so that he could torture me. But by good fortune, 
my promised wife, Miss Jordan, came in time to 
prevent his beastly intentions.” 

“ Heh,” Drake remarked to no one in particular. 
“ Me — I don’t gen’rally load with buckshot when 
I go out for cottontails.” 

The thump of his hammer quickly silenced the out¬ 
burst of laughter. He glared threateningly at the 
spectators. But their mirth had cleared the morbid 
atmosphere created by Lort’s insistent dwelling upon 
the dreadfulness of the two-gun man. The witness 
cut short his “testimony” and went to growl in the 
ear of the prosecuting attorney. Neither that legal 
gentleman nor the pair across the table looked 
happy. 

Drake thrust out a skinny finger. 

“ Bring Bernie to be sworn.” 

“If it please the court”—the prosecutor spoke 
with offended dignity, “ I was elected by the voters 
of this county, including a majority of those present, 
to conduct all proceedings in relation to-■” 

“ Sure you were, sonny. Only wait and say the 




The Show-Down 


335 


rest of it after we get done with this poor sick boy. 
He looks kind of peaked a’ready. Ain’t he bad 
enough without having to listen to your o-rations?” 

The upraised hammer restricted all mirth to 
smiles and titters. The prosecutor sat down, very 
red-faced. As soon as the express messenger had 
been sworn, Drake shot in ahead of the prosecutor. 

“Now, son, we know you’re still shaky. We’ll 
let you get back to the hospital soon’s possible. Just 
take a squint at the pris’ners and tell us what you 
see.” 

Bernie fixed his sunken eyes on the group in the 

dock. 

“I don’t believe I ever before saw any of — 
Yes, I have! That cross-eyed fellow. He’s the 
one who came first with the pumpgun and yelled for 
me to throw up. He ran so fast his hat brim flopped 
up. I saw his cross-eyes just before I jumped and 
he fired. When I stepped back with my pistol——” 

Counsel for the defense were both on their feet 
shouting objections. Drake pounded for silence. 

“ Order -—order in the court!” he commanded. 
“ Bailiff, if these city big guns go off again at half 
cock, get ’em a pair of maximum silencers. Now, 
Bernie, ’scuse the rude interruption. They’re just 
lawyers and so don’t know any manners. Le’s go on. 
Are you dead sure of the i-dentity of cross-eyed 
Al?” 




336 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Yes, sir, positive!” 

“All right. That settles him. How ’bout-” 

The messenger had turned and caught sight of 
Corveau’s scarlet sash girdle. 

“Wait, judge. Here’s the second man. He’s 
the one who shouted up at me to look out, for my 
gun was loaded.” 

The prosecutor slipped in a quick question: 

“Ah! Then he’s the one who shot you?” 

“No, sir. He only knocked my pistol out of my 
hand. It was the man behind him who shot me — 
a thickset heavy man like Mr. Lort.” 

This time the prosecutor absolutely refused to sit 
down until Drake made a formal ruling. 

“Have it your own way. We’ll strike out that 
‘ Mr. Lort.’ ” 

“ But, judge,” put in Bernie, “ I mean it. If I 
didn’t know Mr. Lort to be the deputy sheriff, I’d 
be willing to swear he was the man who-” 

High-pitched cries of all the attorneys, backed by 
Lort’s bellow, drowned out the weak voice of the 
messenger. When Drake at last managed to still 
the clamor he peered down benevolently at the 
nerve-racked witness. 

“That’ll do, son. You’ve done enough for the 
dep’ty sheriff. You can go and get your strength 
built up for the trial.” 

Even the prosecutor waited in silence until the 





The Show-Down 


337 


litter of the dismissed witness disappeared through 
the side doorway. Drake again managed to get 
first say. 

“All right, gents of the law. Your objections are 
heard, overruled, and exceptions noted. Try your 
own luck, Mister Prosecutor.” 

The prosecuting attorney thrust an anger-quiver¬ 
ing finger at Corveau. 

“ I call to the stand this two-gun kid.” 

Corveau quietly took the oath and answered the 
formal questions regarding his name, age and resi¬ 
dence. 

“Ah — ah, yes, from Arizona — the land of 
Apaches, rattlesnakes, lohos, and two-gun killers! 
Do you refuse to incriminate yourself or do you 
wish to claim immunity for betraying your fellow 
gangsters — that is to say, for turning state’s evi¬ 
dence?” 

“ Well, it’s rather hard to say- 

“Answer me, yes or no!” 

“Tell you what,” offered Corveau. “I’ll do it if 
you’ll answer, yes or no — are you a bigger fool 
than you look, or do you look a bigger fool than 
you are?” 

Even counsel for the defense permitted them¬ 
selves a smile. The prosecutor shouted for his 
honor to rule the witness in contempt of court. 
Drake pondered the point. 




338 


The Two-Gun Man 


“Why — the court ain’t altogether sure on that. 
It sounded more like contempt of the pros’cuting at¬ 
torney— Now, now, Mister Blackstone, don’t kick 
clean over the traces, even if Bull did elect you. 
You’re s’posed to be examining the kid, not gaffing 
him. ’Twas your own fault if he jabbed back.” 

The prosecutor chose to take this last as a halt¬ 
ing apology. He looked at his notes, and hurled 
another question at the prisoner: 

“You confess to four killings in Arizona ? ” 

Corveau drew out a sheaf of sealed papers. 

“Here’s, first, a certified copy of the jury’s ver¬ 
dict that my number one was shot by me in self- 
defense. He was a Border smuggler that I trailed 
for murdering my father, who was sheriff of—-” 

“Answer my question! ” 

“Yessir. T’other certificates show that I got my 
other men in the line of my duty as deputy sheriff —- 
at great personal risk and extreme daring. But 
that’s only the way they put it. There’s a lot of fun 
running down real bad badmen.” Corveau smiled 
cheerfully at Lort. “ The worse criminals they are, 
the more fun in getting them.” 

The prosecutor suddenly discovered he had caught 
hold of the hot end of the branding iron. 

“That’ll do. Defense can take the witness.” 

Counsel for the defense had also felt the scorch 
of the iron. 



The Show-Down 


339 


“ Cross examination waived.” 

Drake halted the rising witness. 

“ Hold on. What capacity you been acting in 
for some time past?” 

“ I was commissioned as a deputy sheriff by 
Sheriff Jordan when I started to help him run down 
this gang of bootleggers. We first searched the 
store at Coldwell. Coming back, some of the gang 
tried to kill me from cover. Shot my horse out from 

under me. Sheriff Jordan and-” 

“ I came to save you ! ” cried Lort. “ I didn’t 
know then that your gang was trying to break away 
from you and come clear.” 

Corveau smiled more cheerfully than ever. 
“.You’ve said your say, Bull. Now it’s my turn. 
I’m answering his honor. After that miss, the boss 
of the gang tried to frame me by luring me for a 
fake movie picture train robbery. The joke’s on 
him. I already had him spotted. He’s the thickset 
man who shot Mr. Bernie. I saw him climb into 
the express car with A1 here and heave out the 
pouches. After that——■■” 

“ If the court please,” snapped the prosecutor, 
“ I wish to call especial attention to the fact that the 
witness has confessed his participation in the felony 

of highway robbery and-” 

“ Down brakes! ” advised Drake. “ You’re bark¬ 
ing up the wrong tree. You heard the boy say he 






340 


The Two-Gun Man 


was serving as a deputy and trailing the boss of 
the gang. P’r’aps being there helped him hole up 
the bunch. What say, son?” 

“Yes, your honor. Only I did not know then 
that Mr. Bernie could back up my identification of 
A1 and the gang boss. Easy enough to corral the 
bunch. The hard thing was to get the big bull into 
the branding chute along with the dogies. When at 
last I did get him rounded up with them and made 
my throw, he done went and busted my rope! ” 

Chief counsel for the defense rose with a pained 
expression. 

“Your honor, we object to all this trifling bad¬ 
inage as incompetent, immaterial and irrelevant.” 

“Heh? What say, son? ‘Immaterial’ means 
‘ don’t amount to shucks.’ ” 

“Why, that’s so. It didn’t — his busting loose. 
I camped on his trail. Miss Kate had made me 
promise not to shoot to kill, even in self-defense. 
Mr. Bull laid for me and shot me from behind. I 
winged him three parts round — two arms and a 
leg.” 

Like the glare of a spotlight on a dusk-dimmed 
picture, all the ambiguity of Corveau’s testimony 
suddenly stood out crystal-clear to the dullest mind 
in the courtroom. Even Lort himself sat as if 
stunned. 

Drake nipped the threatened uproar in the bud. 



The Show-Down 


341 


“ Order in the court. Swear Katie Jordan.” 

Mouths opening to cry out remained open, and 
silent. 

Kate took the oath with the white-faced steadi¬ 
ness of a martyr to duty. The prosecutor had been 
quashed. He looked on hopelessly. Even the very 
able criminal lawyers sat speechless. Never had 
they tilted lances with so unhorsable a judge as this 
old hick Drake. 

He asked Kate in a fatherly tone to tell of her 
encounter with the two disguised jail burglars. She 
gave the account in a low but clear voice that carried 
to the farthest corners of the courtroom. When she 
came to her struggle with the bigger man she shud¬ 
dered and looked down. She spoke of feeling his 
hair jerk out, the moment before he stunned her. 
She showed a sealed envelope. 

“ Here is the tuft I still had ih my fingers when I 
came to.” 

“That’ll do for now, Katie,” said the little judge. 
He peered down over his bunch at the baffled at¬ 
torneys and Lort’s morose face. 

“ The court takes this auspicious occasion to state, 
it has heretofore been brought to his certain knowl¬ 
edge that the rounding up of the whole bootleg and 
bandit gang is due to Dep’ty Sheriff Sidney Corveau. 
Wherefore all charges ag’inst said Corveau are here¬ 
by dismissed.” 



342 


The Two-Gun Man 


A tap of the hammer stilled the sudden murmur 
of wonderment. 

“With regard to the present hearing, the court in¬ 
quires if counsel for defense have got their fill. If 
not, the prosecutor will proceed to offer a statement 
sworn to by Burdal Simmons, alias Lefty, naming 
every party connected with this gang. Also offer an 
envelope sealed by the court after being brought 
from the scene of the train holdup by Dep’ty Cor- 
veau, said envelope containing one of the stolen ex¬ 
press packets, on which are the finger prints of the 
gang leader. Also Katie will compare that bunch of 
hair with the hair on the head of the man she knows 
it came from.” 

Lort glowered across the table like a baited bull. 
Chief counsel for the defense rose to reply in meek, 
suave tones: 

“Your honor, all the defendants waive further 
hearing.” 

Drake sprang the climax of the drama that he 
had so carefully worked up for his audience. 

“Dep’ty Corveau, cover the bandit leader. He 
looks dangerous. Bullen Lort, the court commits 
you, without bail, along with t’other pris’ners, for 
trial on the counts of bootlegging, assault to murder, 
and highway robbery.” 

This time the shrewd dramatist permitted the 
spectators to shout themselves hoarse. He had set 



The Show-Down 


343 


his stage against the chance of any outbreak on the 
part of Lort’s followers. From his chambers a 
bunch of his old-time friends filed in with Jackson, 
Tobin, Jake and the creamery manager, all hand¬ 
cuffed. At the attorneys’ entrance another bunch led 
in Burdal Simmons alias Lefty. 

Corveau called cheerfully to Lort through the up¬ 
roar : 

“No use your reaching for your gun, Bull. I 
borrowed it as you went past to swear you’d tell the 
truth.” 


/ 



CHAPTER XXIX 


TOP RIDERS 


HE Elk fire department possessed more than 



A one extension ladder. The smallest had just 
taken the trip to Stack Falls Ranch. From the old 
bunk-house it was weaving in and out among the 
thickets, along the cattle-trail. Its heavier end 
rested on Corveau’s shoulders, its lighter end on 
Kate’s. 

At the base of the north side of the Stack the 
ladder was set down and pulled out jts full length. 
It rose against the smooth-faced twenty-foot cliff. 
Corveau swept off his new Stetson to Kate. 

“ Ladies first, senorita ! ” 

“ Behave yourself, Sidney. Go up and hold it 
from slipping.” 

He ran up the ladder, turned face about on the 
shelf at the top of the cliff, and found Kate in front 
of him. 

“ Look,” she said. “ There’s the knob they must 
have noosed for climbing up here.” 

“ Knew you’d rather use a ladder, Kate. Sidle 
along here. Better give me your hand.” 

She was decidedly the steadier of the two. But 
she gave him her hand as gratefully as if she had 


344 


Top Riders 


345 


been a mid-Victorian young lady. Though it was 
her left hand, no diamond flashed in the morning 
sunrays. 

A few yards along the two-foot of shelf brought 
them to the base of the up-running fissure. It proved 
to be larger than it appeared from the ground. 
Knobs and corners and frequent small holes offered 
safe holds for hands and feet. Kate went up as 
easily as Corveau. She had worn her riding clothes, 
which made a good costume for climbing. 

In places steps had been chiseled to make the 
ascent easier. Rather more than half way up a four- 
foot dimple in the granite gave a resting stage. 
Corveau looked anxiously at his scarlet-cheeked 
companion. 

“If you feel dizzy, Kate, you’d better stay here.” 

“Dizzy? There’s far too much to think about! 
I simply can’t get over how Uncle Drake tele¬ 
graphed to Arizona for your references, and then 
helped you break jail. Was it then you sawed the 
handcuffs off your wrists?” 

“ No, only cut the link. Gig had a file. I’m glad 
the old tinhorn gets immunity. He came through, 
after all. His honor has fixed it so he can stay at 
Coldwell. No need of bootleg for him to make a 
living there.” t 

“ Oh, Sidney! Can you wonder that Uncle Drake 
always is re-elected? The way he got Lefty to 




340 


The Two-Gun Man 


confess, and then helped the Government secret 
service find out that the pretended doctor-actor and 
assistant director were the men who had been selling 
all the moonshine shipped to Denver by Bullen’s 
creamery. But you’ve been as wonderful in your 
way, Sidney!” 

“ Hope so. I’d hate to get up to the top of this 
proposition, and find I’ve fallen down on it. What 
d’you say we go look-see?” 

Kate was more than willing. They made the 
upper part of the climb faster than the lower. Both 
kept their eyes on the successive footholds. It was 
a surprise when the fissure widened into a cleft that 
ran in, almost level, across the top of the Stack. 
In the far corner was a tarpaulin-covered heap. 

Corveau jerked oft the canvas. Over his bent 
shoulder Kate saw a roll of blankets, a gallon jug, 
a box, and two half-filled sacks. Corveau dumped 
the first sack. Out fell a stale loaf of bread and 
several cans of fish, meat and fruit. He dumped 
the second sack. 

Kate cried out and dropped on her knees. Cor¬ 
veau knelt, almost as quickly, to help her throw the 
bran-dusted packets of bank notes back into the sack. 
Some of the notes were loose. A gust of wind might 
sweep over the Stack and puff away hundreds of 
dollars. Corveau was first to speak. 

“Here’s why you and Bill and his honor found 




Top Riders 


347 


only that loose bran in the feed loft, where Lefty 
told you to look. D’you notice that phone in the 
box? The wire runs down west side the Stack and 
through the cave chimney. I found it when I slid 
into the cave. Those field glasses are the ones the 
lookout up here used to use. I saw them glint when 
we came over the west ridge that day. Down at 
the falls you told me about your cave. That cinched 
the matter.” 

Kate thrust the last bundle of bank notes into the 
sack and gazed at him with a faraway look in her 
flax-blue eyes. She had not heard a word. 

“ Do you realize what this means, Sidney? You’ll 
get the whole ten thousand dollars reward.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Another thing—he’s still so sure 
this loot is safe that he has offered the ranch for 
half its worth to get money to hire the very highest- 
priced law sharps. We’ll snap it up, and I’ll file on 
the falls and canon. Where’ll we build our new 
house? ” 

He vaulted up out of the cleft and pulled Kate 
after him. They perched side by side on the top¬ 
most knob of the Stack. Kate did not draw her 
hand out of his clasp. She did not even gaze off 
at the magnificent view. 

“You’ve already laid the foundations of our 
house, Sidney,” she said. “You’ve built them on a 
Rock.” 



With his free hand Corveau drew from the pocket 
of his shirt the little Testament that she had given 
him. He opened it enough to show a coiled brown 
hair. . /$ 

“Fooled Old Nick, didn’t we? It was a narrow 
squeak, though, lying down there, with him grinning 
over the way he’d laid me out. I sure did hanker 
for to drill Mister Devil right between those green 
eyes. But I fooled him. I just did manage to save 
my soul — by a hair.” 

“You — you irrepressible boy!” 

“ Can you blame me? I’m sitting on the world — 
with you.” 

Kate did not turn away from his eager eyes. It 
seemed the most natural thing in the world to put 
her arm around his neck. 






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